


Hunger

by difficultheart



Series: like a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Batfamily Feels, Bruce tries to be a good dad, Canon is My Playground and I Do As I Please, Damian is a Good Kid Deep Down and You Can't Change My Mind, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fuck Scott Lobdell, Gen, Gotham Academy, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Metahuman Reader, POV Second Person, Past Character Death, Rating May Go Up With Subsequent Chapters, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-05-31 00:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 63,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19414576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/difficultheart/pseuds/difficultheart
Summary: "be careful, oh my darling, oh, be careful what it takesfrom what i've seen so far, the good ones always seem to break"you were an art teacher trying to forget what made you different and medicating it away. he was a living ghost trying to find something that made him feel warm again. perhaps it was destiny, perhaps it was fate. perhaps you both just hungered for an end to the loneliness.





	1. Chapter 1

The Red Hood was not at all what you had expected. Dangerous vigilante, not beholden to Batman’s moral code, as likely to kill you as he was to help you. Was he an army of people all wearing the same mask? An elite assassin? A dead Robin come back from the grave for revenge? Newspapers did what they were best at: speculating. The cops weren’t his biggest fans, but the gangs weren’t entirely fond of him either. A trail of death and destruction followed him wherever he went. 

Trapped between him and a dead end alley, you’d expected him to kill you. He’d killed the men who’d shoved you into that alley. You were next. So many years of surviving Gotham, clawing your way out of the gutter, were about to end. You’d thought so before he came, when you were cornered and facing down men you knew weren’t just going to take your money. Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself for your inevitable death.

Instead, he holstered his gun, crouched down in front of you, and offered you a hand.

“You okay?” His voice was muffled behind the helmet, face replaced by a blank, reflective red. 

You just stared at him, shocked.

With a sigh, he retracted his hand and rested his elbows on his knees.

“I’m not gonna kill you, okay? Just wanna make sure they didn’t hurt you.” Head cocked, he tapped a finger against the spot on his helmet where his forehead would be. “Looks like you took a hit.”

“Oh.” You reached up, pressing your fingers to your right temple. Pain blossomed, and when you pulled your hand back there was blood smeared on your fingertips. “I… didn’t even notice. I hit my head against the wall when they shoved me in here.”

“Any ringing in your ears? Everything clear, or seem kind of fuzzy?”

“I don’t think I have a concussion,” you answered. Wincing, you prodded at the scrape again. “Just a bump.”

“Not to be that guy,” Red Hood said, “but walking alone in this neighborhood late at night wasn’t exactly a genius move.”

“Yeah, thanks, I’m aware.” You snapped at him, pushing yourself to your feet. There was a tremble in your legs, likely from the adrenaline rush, and some small scrapes on your knees. But otherwise, you had gotten out of a bad situation much better than you should have. “Did you, uh, kill them?”

Almost immediately, you wanted to slap yourself. Of course he had killed them, he shot them and they weren’t moving—

“Nah, just put them down for the count. Tranquilizer darts.” He nudged on of the bodies near him with the toe of his boot. “I’m not so far gone that I kill random muggers.”

“Oh.” Shit. You cleared your throat, clutching at the strap of your purse. “I’m… sorry?”

“Not a stupid question, no need to apologize.” He shrugged. “I know what people say about me.”

“Well.” Awkward silence stretched, and you cleared your throat. “Thanks. For, you know, saving me.”

“Well, I couldn’t just sit back and watch someone get mugged,” Red Hood said. Hands on his hips, you watched him look you up and down. Even through that helmet, you could feel his eyes on you. Heat blossomed in your cheeks, and you looked away. “Just be more careful. I’m not always gonna be around, you know.”

You nodded, shuffling away from the wall while still keeping a good distance between the two of you. It was a good thing he’d helped. It was an even better thing that you hadn’t been knocked unconscious by that little blow to your head. As bad as the situation was, that would have made it exponentially worse. 

“If you don’t feel safe walking the rest of the way home, I can call someone,” he offered. “Or, you know, wait while you call someone.”

What? You stared at him, halting in your slow shuffle around him. That was… uncharacteristically nice, considering his reputation.

“Uh, no. I’m good.” You motioned towards the mouth of the alley. “I live less than a block from here. If someone tries to mug me again, it’s probably just my destiny to have the shittiest night ever.”

The vigilante snorted, and you forced a smile. This was going to make for a great story to tell at work. 

“I’ll let you head on out then. I’ve got other areas to patrol.” Rolling his neck, he started to turn away. “If these late night walks are going to be a thing for you, might be worth investing in a taser. Maybe some pepper spray.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said. 

Nodding, Red Hood pulled some sort of grappling gun from his belt and was gone by the time you blinked. Staring up at the rooftop, you tried to see if you could spot his silhouette. Nothing. With a heavy sigh, you poked at the scrape on your forehead one more time before heading back out onto the street.

It would be your luck that your first time ever working late would result in not only a mugging, but a run-in with a blood-thirsty (?) vigilante. Nothing about Gotham was normal or routine, and it certainly wasn’t the first time you’d run into one of the city’s resident masked guardians. But it was the weirdest, the most awkward, and the first since you’d graduated high school. The rest of your walk was uneventful, the cat greeting you at the door with angry chirps at his dinner being so late.

“Sorry, Ragdoll,” you said to the enormous Maine Coon. He chirped back, tail swishing against the hardwood floor. “Mommy had a very weird night.”

Locking and bolting the door behind you, you tossed your purse and shoes aside before heading to the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t exactly enormous, and it wasn’t the most glamorous you’d seen, but it was affordable and the complex was small and quiet. Flipping on the light, you put some kibble in the cat’s dish and programmed the coffee pot for the morning. Going through the motions kept you from freaking out any further, calmed the shaking of your hands. 

You retrieved your phone from your purse, checking notifications as you shuffled down the hall and into the bathroom. How long had it been since you’d bought that first aid kit? You weren’t sure, but it was the only place where you had rubbing alcohol and band-aids. Looking in the mirror, you winced at your reflection. The right side of your face was streaked with blood, and the bags under your eyes looked like bruises. Your makeup had run, mascara and lipstick smudged. Not exactly your best look, you had to admit. Most of the blood came off easily with a damp washcloth, and the scrape wasn’t huge. Still, it was sensitive to the touch, and you suspected there’d be a gnarly bruise surrounding it. Forgoing make up remover, you patted some of the alcohol on the scrape, cursing under your breath. After the band-aid was delicately applied, you went through the rest of the normal routine: brush teeth, change out of work clothes, put on pajamas, and shot off a quick text to your best friend.

met the red hood tonight. almost mugged, but am ok. will tell u tomorrow

Your phone buzzed with a notification, but you ignored it as you crawled into bed, set your alarm clock, and fell asleep.

\----

“You met RED HOOD?” 

Glancing over your shoulder, you shushed your best friend, Simone. 

“Not so loud,” you hissed. “But yeah. I stayed late last night grading exams. Walked home alone, almost got mugged, he helped me out.”

“That’s why you look like shit?” Her volume remained exactly the same, and you slumped as people turned to stare.

“Yeah, sure. Look, it was just… really awkward, you know?” You opened the door to the faculty lounge for her, already desperately needing another cup of coffee. “Is it supposed to be awkward when you meet masked vigilantes? I don’t remember that one time Nightwing saved me and a couple classmates as being awkward.”

“That’s because it was Nightwing,” Simone points out. She’d stepped out of the way so you could get to the coffee pot first. “He’s like… the hottest dude in Gotham. Or Bludhaven, I guess. I remember seeing him once when he was still here. God, his ass…”

You laughed, taking down a mug and scrounging through the fridge for your creamer. “Yeah, girl, I know. Everyone knows. But honestly, when Red Hood showed up, I thought he was gonna kill me.”

“Well yeah,” your friend said, “he kills like everyone, according to the news.”

You let out a little hum, pouring yourself coffee and relinquishing the pot to her. “Yeah, I don’t know. I didn’t really get like… that kind of vibe from him. The helmet is really scary, but he was kinda nice, all things considered.”

“Did he have a nice ass too?”

Choking on your coffee, you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep any from flying out as you spluttered. You swallowed before answering. “Oh my god, I didn’t look at his ass.”

“Well.” Simone turned to you, sipping at her coffee and raising an eyebrow. “Check for me next time. But like… seriously though. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, following her back out into the hallway. Students were already spilling in, heading to their classrooms. Aware of their prying ears, you lowered your voice. “I’m just glad I didn’t get knocked unconscious. Even with the pills I’m taking, I don’t know if… well…”

“If it would have gone worse,” she whispered back. Her face creased with concern, she motioned to the dark bruise on your temple. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“I mean, a little. But I took some aspirin, so it should be fine.” Stopping in front of your classroom, you gave her a weak smile. “Explaining this to the Headmaster will be fun.”

“Don’t worry too much about it, okay? I’m sure he won’t be angry about it. Good luck today.” With a little wave, Simone walked further down the hall to her class. 

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and tried to center yourself. You’d felt off balance all morning, the dull ache in your temple distracting. The pills hadn’t helped either, and you hoped the coffee and your classes would help you keep control. Once you’d gathered yourself, you plastered on a bright smile and walked into the classroom. Thank god you never had a dull day working at Gotham Academy.

\----

Of course, it didn’t take long for word to spread of your little encounter. By the time lunch rolled around, Headmaster Hammer had already made it to your classroom. He announced himself by clearing his throat in the doorway, already glowering at you. Setting down the easel you’d been inspecting (a student had thrown a bit of a fit and thrown it against the wall), you forced a smile as he walked in.

“Good morning, Headmaster!”

“I see that the rumors of your condition were true,” he said by way of greeting. Your smile faltered. “Are you in fit condition to be at the academy?”

“Of course,” you replied, keeping your voice upbeat. “No concussion, just a bit of a bump and scraped knees. With the end of term coming up, I didn’t want to risk the students falling behind on their projects.”

“Yes, well.” The headmaster inspected some of the oil paintings your previous class had worked on, still frowning. “Your dedication to the students is appreciated. Perhaps going forward, you will be more careful leaving the academy after hours.”

Jaw clenched, you forced out a “yes, sir” and plastered on a smile. The headmaster wasn’t a bad man, not really, but there were days when having a conversation with him was more dangerous than navigating a minefield. His intentions were likely good, but you wished he’d spare you the lecture.

“Well then, I need to get going. The Wayne boy caused another uproar that I have to deal with.” 

Damian Wayne was infamous among the teaching staff at Gotham Academy. The boy was volatile and violent, temper snapping at the drop of a dime. He’d broken a teacher’s wrist and put another student in the hospital, among other things. It was only by virtue of his father’s money and connections that he hadn’t been expelled. He was one of your favorite students; for a first year, he had an excellent eye for aesthetics and was hands down the best in all your classes when it came to color composition. It likely helped that you didn’t push him when he was in one of his moods, and simply talked to him like you would any other student.

“Of course, sir. I’ll also have a talk with him when he comes to class.”

The headmaster grunted and left, and you sagged against your desk in relief. You’d have to follow up with Damian, of course. But honestly, you’d rather face the teenager than have to slap on a smile for your boss again. Placing the damaged easel aside for the moment, you re-arranged the room for your afternoon classes. Just before lunch ended, you remembered to take your afternoon medication. With everything going on, the last thing you needed was to have an episode.

Damian’s class was the last for the day, and you noticed he was particularly surly when he slouched in. The others avoided him (as usual), and he didn’t say a word to you as he set up at his station. His jaw appeared to be bruised, and the knuckles on his left hand had split. Another fight. You sighed, and clapped your hands to get everyone’s attention. This class was focusing on oils at the moment, and you had arranged a still life scene of plastic fruits and vases for them to paint. You put on music in the background as they worked (today’s selection was Fleetwood Mac), and observed each student. Each had their own unique style, and none really struggled with your assignments. Even as first years, most of them had already taken advanced art classes for their age. When you got to Damian, you stopped. 

“Damian,” you said quietly, “would you mind speaking to me after class?”

The boy grunted in response. His work was amazing, as usual, and you made a point to compliment his blending of colors before moving on to the next student. The hour passed quickly, and most of the students rushed out the door when the bell rang. A few lagged, some asking about the bruising and getting polite lies, others asking for tutoring after hours. Once they were gone, you were left alone in the classroom with Damian Wayne.

“The headmaster talked to you,” he said before you could ask. He had slumped back in his chair, gaze on his feet as you collected his painting and set it with the others. 

“He only told me that there was a situation.” Pulling up a chair next to him, you sat down and watched his face closely. “You got in a fight.”

It wasn’t a question. You’d both had this conversation many times before. Damian groaned and cradled his head in his hands. 

“I’m not going to lecture you about it, you know.” Reaching forward, you placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. “I know that things are difficult at home for you. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he snapped. He shrugged your hand off his shoulder, and you quickly retreated. “I do not want to talk about it. The fight was warranted.”

“Did someone say something about your dad again?” For a teenage boy, Damian had a weirdly archaic sense of honor.

The boy was quiet for a long moment, finally dropping his hands and turning to face you. “No,” he said. “They were telling lies about Richard.”

“Ah.” Richard Grayson, the oldest of the Wayne wards. From your interactions with Damian, you’d gathered that the two were close. You’d also heard some of the rumors that Damian had probably reacted violently to. “I’m sorry. I know that you’re very close.”

“My father is not always a good man.” Damian rubbed at his knuckles, speaking slowly. “I am very aware of this. But Richard… he goes out of his way to do good. He does not deserve the things that are said about him.”

The smile on your face this time was genuine. Leaning forward, you made sure he was looking you in the eye before you spoke. “You’re a good kid, Damian. Deep down. You make it hard to see sometimes with all the anger, but I want you to know that I see that goodness.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking away. Embarrassed. “You are one of the few sufferable teachers in this awful place.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Standing up, you motioned for him to do the same. “You’re one of the few sufferable kids.”

The closest approximation Damian could get to a smile grew on his face, and you waited for him to collect his things before walking out into the hall with him. The building was quieter now, most of the students already headed to the dorms or in classrooms for tutoring sessions. Your heels clicked against the floor as you walked with Damian towards the entrance. He stopped just short of it, glaring up at you.

“Is… something wrong?” you asked.

“Your face.” He pointed to your forehead. “Did someone hurt you?”

“What?” you laughed, looking away. You swore the kid could see straight to your soul sometimes. “No, just fell and bumped my head is all.”

“You’re lying.” His tone made your blood run cold. 

“I… Damian, it’s okay.” You looked back at him, gut turning at the rage on his face. Shit, had you gotten him angry at you too? “I don’t want to worry any students. Everything really is fine.”

The boy seemed to mull over his thoughts, picking out the right words to say. But before he could say them, a voice interrupted.

“You getting a lecture about something again, Damian?”

Both of you turned to the source, and you froze. You didn’t recognize the man leaning against the front doors, but there was something about his voice…

“Shut up, Todd,” Damian spat. Your eyes widened at the venom in his tone.

“Respect your elders, brat,” the man replied, a lazy smile on his face. Turning his attention to you, the smile morphed into a smirk. “Sorry about the kid. I’m Jason Todd. One of his brothers.”

“Oh,” you breathed. Were all of the adult wards of Bruce Wayne insanely handsome? Jason Todd stood well over a head taller than you, with a broad, powerful build. While Grayson had the face and smile of a male supermodel, Todd looked like the kind of guy who would take you out behind the nightclub and lose your number afterwards. “Nice to meet you…?”

“Likewise. Which one of his teachers are you?” He approached, easily scooping Damian into a headlock that the boy struggled to get out of.

“Art,” you said. God, how were his eyes so green? “Uh, Damian’s actually one of my favorites.”

“I don’t think we’re talking about the same kid,” he said. He grunted as the boy in question drove an elbow into his ribs, successfully escaping the headlock. 

“Why are you here, Todd?” Damian demanded. 

“Bruce sent me. He had an emergency meeting, and Dick’s still out of town with Tim.” The man shrugged. “Plus I’m supposed to discipline you or something.”

Damian groaned again, and Jason turned his attention back to you. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Miss…?”

You gave him your name, then finally gathered yourself enough to offer your hand. “Don’t be too harsh on him. He’s a good kid.” 

Clasping your hand in a firm handshake, Jason Todd laughed. Once again, you had that odd feeling of déjà vu. “I really don’t think we’re talking about the same kid. C’mon, Damian. Car’s waiting outside.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurted as the two turned to leave. Jason turned back towards you, eyebrow quirked. “But have we met before? You just… seem familiar.”

You felt stupid the second the words spilled over. God, were you hitting on him? Maybe you were. But you couldn’t shake that gut feeling that you had somehow heard his voice before. For a brief second, surprise flashed across his face. But it was gone as soon as it came, and he winked instead.

“No,” he said, “I’d remember a girl like you.”

And with that, the two left. You stood there for a moment longer, feeling like an utter fool. Of course you hadn’t met Jason Todd before. Hell, you hadn’t even met Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, or Tim Drake. Damian very rarely talked about them, and you were sure he’d never mentioned Todd before. Maybe you had just overheard an interview with him on the radio and forgotten about it. Maybe you’d seen him on the news like the other members of the Wayne family.

That little voice at the back of your head, the one that only spoke up when the pills faded, told you a different story. You had met Jason Todd before. And as much hell as that voice could raise, it had yet to steer you wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright dear readers, it's time for some Real Talk (TM)-- i Do Not Like the way lobdell writes jason. the whole all caste thing just... doesn't work for me. so i threw all of that out the window and decided to make canon my little sandbox to play around in. my jason is based more on judd winick's "red hood: the lost days" and the batman eternal and batman & robin eternal story lines (minus the weird forced romance between him and babs). 
> 
> this is not beta'd and honestly i'm writing this more to shake off rust and have a little bit of fun. subsequent chapters should (hopefully) be better, and i do have a general direction for where this story is going to go.
> 
> reader has some meta powers that will be slowly picked apart and explained in later chapters. if you've made it this far, thank you for reading!! i'm trying to keep this one chapter ahead from when i post, since i've had a bad habit of abandoning fics in the past.... hopefully next chapter should be up soon! i've got two edited and ready with the third being worked on. you can find me on tumblr at spidergwenn or on twitter @irlgwenstacy!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a painting is made, a meeting is scheduled, and a discovery is made
> 
> _"And I'm in the throes of it_  
>  _Somewhere in the belly of the beast_  
>  _But you took your toll on me_  
>  _So I gave myself over willingly"_

Skipping a dose of your medication was a stupid, terrible, disastrous thing to do. It never ended well, and you knew it. For years it had kept you on the level, kept you under control. But sometimes, when your gut and that little voice in your head told you something was off, you risked it. Your instincts were telling you that you were missing something, and you weren’t going to ignore them this time. This kind of thing wasn’t insanity. If that little voice said something was off, you trusted it. 

Jason Todd had met you before. This was something you knew to be true in your gut. But the pills… they dulled it. You had to know. So that night, you set aside your usual prescriptions, ate dinner like normal, locked the cat in the bathroom, and let the control slip. Plastic tarps had been laid over the floor and the furniture, just in case, little acrylic paint pots laid out neatly in a row. The canvas you’d set up for yourself was sizable, and you knew you’d need every inch of it. You didn’t need any brushes or tools. Just the fizzling power that was beginning to bubble up underneath your skin.

Truthfully, you didn’t really have a label for it. The doctors had been a bit coy after you were admitted, merely telling you that control was key and writing you a laundry list of pharmaceuticals. It had been hard at first, turning it off. The pills had made you sick at first. The regimen of it had been hard to keep track of. But bit by bit over the years, the episodes had dwindled. You still painted, but there were less mornings where you woke up to paint splattered on the walls and furniture overturned. Normal was a relative term, but you liked the illusion of it. 

Not tonight. Something was off, and you wanted to see if you could gain some insight. As a little bubble of the power popped, you let your eyes slip closed and abandoned yourself to the rush of it. Losing control felt a little bit like slipping into a pool of lukewarm soda, the power effervescent under your skin. It made your scalp tingle, your teeth ache. The relief of it spread through your bones, loosened your tensed muscles. Doing this almost felt natural, even if you knew you’d have to bottle it back up in the morning and pretend like you were normal again.

Time slipped by, melting away quicker than usual. Hours felt like minutes, and by the time you opened your eyes early dawn light was seeping through the curtains. You focused on your breathing, the meditation the psychiatrists had taught you to keep your cool. Focus was key. The bubbling, fizzing sensation slowly died down, your muscles tensing again. Real sensation returned, the warmth of the heater comforting on your skin. The cat scratched at the door, yowling unhappily. You heard the hum of the fridge in the kitchen, the soft beep of your coffee pot as it turned on and brewed your morning cup. 

Although the mess around the apartment was minimal, you had splotches of paint on your skin and in your hair. The plastic tarps were rolled up, and you picked at a dried spot of red pain on the sleeve of your sweatshirt. It would be a long day, given your lack of sleep, but you’d gotten through it before. With a deep breath, you turned to see what you’d made on the canvas.

Your blood ran cold at the sight.

The whole thing was a mess of red, darker splotches that looked like blood and brighter slashes that appeared to be flames. The color was only interrupted by deep black shadows, no light encroaching on the scene. It was chaotic, a scene of destruction and death. You couldn’t make any sense out of it. A knot of dread coiled in your gut. What did this mean? You’d tried to focus on Jason Todd, but this was clearly something different. Chaos and destruction were no strangers to Gotham. Maybe that focus had slipped, and this was a warning of things to come.

You didn’t have time to think on it. Work came first, and you couldn’t go in covered in paint and wearing ratty clothes. The shower was quick but thorough, and you had to trust that you got most of the paint off. You thanked past-you for laying out work clothes the night before and rushed through your usual make up routine. A new bandage was placed on the slow healing scrape on your temple, coffee was guzzled, and breakfast was placed out for Ragdoll. The cat had quickly forgiven you for locking him up, and you’d had to take a quick minute to brush cat hair off your clothes before dashing out the door. You nearly missed your usual train to work, tripped multiple times getting out of the metro station, and had to apologize even more times for accidentally bumping into people.

Work was going to be rough, but you had to make it through. You left your students to their own devices, assigning them to sketch out whatever they felt like. Honestly, you should have expected the amount of inappropriate drawings turned in by some of the boys. You didn’t have the energy to punish them, so you gave them the standard “go to detention, try to learn from this” treatment. Halfway through lunch Simone pointed out a splotch of red paint behind your ear. You stopped by the faculty lounge in between each period to fill your mug back up with coffee. Frankly, it was the only thing that was keeping you going. By the time the end of your last period rolled around, you felt dead on your feet. Students had noticed, but most shrugged it off or gave you quiet well wishes for feeling better. 

No such luck with Damian Wayne, of course. The kid had been glaring daggers at you for the entire period. When he approached you after class, you braced yourself for the coming storm.

Instead, he slammed a piece of paper down on your desk. You blinked, surprised to see a form to request a parent-teacher conference. He had filled it out himself, and you suspected the signature from the Wayne patriarch was forged, but you had to admire his effort.

“I want you to meet with Father,” he said. The kid’s back was stiff, posture straight and radiating tension. “He has concerns about my education.”

“And you… want me to tell him what?” You rubbed at your temple, wincing as the scrape smarted. “You should know that I’m going to be honest with him regarding all of your classes, not just this one.”

“That is fine.” Shifting his weight, he glanced down at his feet. “That… is why I wanted you to speak to him. I have concerns my other instructors would only highlight their perceived negative views.”

“Right.” You sighed. “I’ll reach out to your father, Damian. We both know he’s a busy man, but I’ll make sure this happens for you.”

“Yes,” Damian said. “I appreciate it.”

An awkward silence fell, the boy not leaving as you penciled in a reminder on your calendar to reach out to Wayne before you left for the day. Looking back up at him, you raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Was there something else you needed, Damian?” you asked.

“You have paint under your nails,” he blurted. You blinked, and he looked away from you, embarrassed. “I was just curious as to what you were working on.”

“Just a personal project.” You smiled, trying to put him at ease. “Nothing much. You don’t have to worry about me abandoning my position here, Damian.”

“I was not worried about that!” His denial just affirmed that he was, in fact, worried about it. When he wasn’t being an absolute terror, Damian Wayne almost had the potential to be a cute kid. “Thank you for your time. I will leave you to your work.” 

Stifling your amusement, you watched the boy walk stiffly out of your office. Despite his best efforts, there was a heart under all that razor sharp attitude. You turned your attention back to the form, skimming over it for contact information. Three numbers had been listed: home, personal, and business. You picked up the phone and dialed the home number first, knowing that the chances of you actually getting Bruce Wayne on the first try were slim to none. Someone picked up after just 3 rings.

“Wayne Residence,” said a prim voice. The butler, probably.

You introduced yourself, putting on your best Professional Phone Voice. “I’m calling for Mr. Wayne in regards to his son. Damian has requested that I have a conference with his father. I believe he said there were some concerns about how he was doing in school.”

There was a pause. “I’m afraid that Mr. Wayne is not at home at the moment, but I would be happy to take down a message for you, Miss. Is there a number he can reach you at?”

You gave him both your cell phone number and the number for your class phone. “Thank you very much.”

“Of course, Miss. If I may suggest calling Master Wayne’s personal number, you may have better luck reaching him there.”

You thanked him again, then hung up. The weird lives of the rich and famous never ceased to amuse you. You’d had many a conversation with maids and butlers during your time at the academy, and very few with the actual parents. Most of the students were raised more by nannies than by their mothers and fathers. Deciding to try your luck, you dialed the personal number listed next.

It only took two rings this time for an answer.

“This is Bruce Wayne.”

For just a moment, you froze. You’d seen the man on TV and from a distance several times, but never actually spoken to him. It struck you in that moment how absurd it was that you were calling the most powerful man in Gotham because of his cranky, violent son.

“Uh, hi, Mr. Wayne.” You quickly introduced yourself. “I’m sorry to take time out of your day, but if you had just a moment, I was hoping to talk to you about Damian.”

There was no mistaking the heavy sigh at the other end. You had to bite your lip to keep back nervous laughter. Damian was a thorn in everyone’s side, even his father’s. “Of course, I have time. What did he do now?”

“Oh.” You cleared your throat, a nervous giggle almost bubbling over. “Oh, no, I’m not calling because he’s in trouble. Damian actually came to me after class today to request that we have a parent-teacher conference. From what he’s told me, you have some concerns?”

Silence. You squirmed in your chair, nerves grating with each passing second that he didn’t speak. Finally, he replied. “I do. I have to confess that I’m surprised he approached one of his teachers about it.”

“I’m his art instructor,” you said. As if that clarified anything by itself. “He really shines in my class, Mr. Wayne. I know he’s had his fair share of… issues at the academy. But I think he has a lot of potential, and I try to nurture it when he’s in my classroom. Is there a good time for you to come by and meet with me?”

“Hm.” In the background, you could hear the shuffling of paper and a muffled voice. Holy shit, had you interrupted him at work. “A lunch meeting would be best. Could you make that work?”

“Of course, Mr. Wayne. Would tomorrow be a good day?” You were already penciling it in, cursing the shake of your hand. 

“Yes, that works. I’ll look forward to meeting you then.” 

Just like that, the call was over. You sat frozen in place, dial tone echoing in your ear. Holy shit. Holy shit, you were meeting with Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises, Prince of Gotham, most powerful man in the city. About his son, of all things. Groaning, you hung up the phone and slumped down in your seat.

First that painting, now this. Your life was quickly swerving out of control, and you had no idea how to get it back on track.

\----

Bruce Wayne was exactly what you had expected. He had shown up to your classroom fashionably late in a perfectly tailored suit with his sunglasses still on. The man had an air of well-deserved arrogance around him, and you immediately felt very, very nervous. You stood to greet him, hoping your palm wasn’t sweaty as you shook his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne!” Your voice went up nearly an octave, and you cleared your throat. Plastering on a smile, you motioned to a chair you’d set up across from your desk. You were terrified, and you were pretty sure it showed. “Please, have a seat. Thank you for meeting with me today.”

“Of course.” Taking a seat, he finally took off his sunglasses. You blanched when steely blue eyes met yours. “I’m glad you reached out. The Headmaster has made it clear that Damian’s been having some issues at school.”

“He has.” You sat down as well, folding your hands on the desk to hide the way they were shaking. “To be honest, Mr. Wayne, Damian is a hard child to deal with for a lot of us. He’s very angry, and unafraid to act out. He’s lashed out at not only students, but staff as well.”

Bruce Wayne frowned, and you swear you almost shit yourself. The man could end your career in the blink of an eye. But you had a feeling that he appreciated honesty more than kissing his ass. 

“He’s also come to school injured before,” you said. “I have to say, Mr. Wayne, I’m a little bit concerned about his home life. In my experience, kids really only lash out like this when they feel something is going very wrong in their lives.”

“I have to confess that Damian is… a handful.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Just like that, the man appeared to age a decade right before your eyes. “He’s very willful, and I don’t get to see him very often. My butler Alfred does what he can, but he’s still difficult.”

“He’s very resistant to authority,” you pointed out. “When he’s instructed to do something, he lashes out.”

“I’m very aware,” he said. You swallowed a lump in your throat. 

“I know that he’s not doing well in some of this other classes, but that really isn’t why I agreed to meet with you, Mr. Wayne.” Reaching behind your desk, you pulled out a stack of the work Damian had turned in over the first term and handed them to his father. “Damian has a real talent. He’s very focused when he’s in my classroom. I think that some of this is a bit therapeutic for him. I’d like to nurture and foster that talent as much as I can, Mr. Wayne. With a little bit of a push in the right direction, I think your son could have a real future ahead of him as an artist.”

You watched as Bruce flipped through the work you’d handed him. His face remained carefully passive and blank until he got to the last work in the pile. He froze, eyes widening ever so slightly. Smiling, you allowed yourself a moment of silent pride. You’d chosen it for a reason and gotten the reaction you’d hoped for. The work in question was watercolor, one of the more difficult mediums you’d had your students work on. Damian had taken to it as quickly as everything else, instinctually knowing how best to use the fluid colors. It was your favorite work of his, a watercolor rendition of Wayne Manor. You’d praised him for the work, impressed and just a little peeved that the boy had conquered one of the mediums you’d always struggled with yourself.

“I think Damian is a good kid, deep down.” You kept your voice low, taking back the stack of Damian’s work from his father with a smile. “He has his issues, but I see the heart in him more often than his other teachers do. He’s let me in just a little bit, Mr. Wayne. I think with the right direction, we can get him back on the right track.”

“Thank you.” Bruce Wayne actually smiled at you, and you realized very suddenly why he had such a reputation as a lady killer. The expression lit up his face, softened the hard lines. “I appreciate you working with Damian. He doesn’t talk much about school, so I’d assumed he’d been having a difficult time with all of his classes. I’ll have a talk with him tonight and see if we can get things straightened out.”

“I appreciate it, Mr. Wayne.” You stood up and he followed, giving you another firm handshake. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you. I have to admit to having a bit of a soft spot for your son.”

“Please,” he said, “call me Bruce. I’ll make sure to keep in touch.”

With one last smile and a wink that knocked the breath from you, Bruce Wayne strode out of the classroom. You actually had to lean on your desk for support. Once you recovered from the Wayne Charm that had been dialed up to eleven, you allowed yourself a moment of pride. You were still young, still a new teacher, but you had done something good. 

You could only hope that Damian would play along.

\----

Jason Todd loved to piss Damian off. The kid made it too easy, really. He was an easy target, always taking the bait and snapping back. It was a level of anger that was familiar, but much more intense. Jason was self-aware; he knew he’d always been an angry kid. But there was an edge to Damian that he’d never had, razor sharp and ever-ready to spill some blood. Maybe he riled him up a bit too much. Maybe he pushed him to that edge more often than he should. But it was always amusing to see just how far he could push the kid. And in the past couple days, he’d been particularly sensitive.

Honestly, he couldn’t really blame the kid. Damian kept a lot of things close to his chest, fiercely private and secretive about the smallest things. School had been one of them, a sore spot that Jason poked at frequently. Dick had told him time and time again to knock it off, seriously, just leave the kid alone. But he was curious to see just how far over the edge he could push Damian. He’d been more sore about the subject since Jason had caught him with his teacher. 

“What’s wrong?” Jason had jeered on the way home. “Jealous?”

“Shut up, Todd,” Damian bit back. He refused to respond to any other jabs, merely grunted.

That night, he’d shut himself up in his room. Jason had gotten one of Dick’s famous lectures as punishment, but it didn’t dissuade him. He’d recognized the teacher, after all. He’d saved her the night before, remembered that nasty bump on her head. 

What really piqued his curiosity was her question. Had she recognized his voice somehow? The helmet had done a pretty good job till then masking it. Maybe she’d just confused him with someone else, or the head injury had rattled her enough that any deep male voice would have seemed familiar. It seemed impossible that she could have ferreted him out that quickly. But if anything, Jason had learned over the years that there were very few things that were actually impossible.

That next morning, he’d caught a glimpse of the forged request form. A new idea formed in his head, and he’d smirked at Damian when he’d gotten home from school that day.

“I think I’ve got you figured out, brat.” He watched with amusement as the kid tossed his backpack aside and glared right back. “You’ve got the hots for your teacher, don’t you?”

And that was all it took. Damian flew off the hook the second the question was asked. An angry flush rose to his face, and he was on Jason in a second. His hands wrapped around the older man’s neck, teeth bared in an angry snarl. No words were exchanged. Jason shoved him off, Damian threw a punch, and the next thing he knew Dick was pulling them off each other. Jason hadn’t done anything more than defend himself, but he had a bloody nose and a swelling bruise under his left eye for his troubles. Damian spat something at him in Arabic, squirming and trying in vain to escape Dick’s grip and get back at him. 

“Think I struck a nerve,” Jason said, spitting out a bit of blood and wiping away the blood on his mouth and chin. 

“You’re disgusting,” Damian spat.

“I’m so tired of this,” Dick grumbled. “Damian, head down to the cave and get ready for patrol. I’ll make sure Bruce has a word with you later.”

The boy still looked ready to slit Jason’s throat, but quietly did as he was told. Dick was the only person who could tell the kid what to do. Anyone else would get cursed at, at best, or threatened with violence, at worst. Jason watched him retreat, taking the offered tissue from Dick and tilting his head back to try to staunch the blood.

“I think he broke my nose,” Jason said.

“Why do you always have to antagonize him?” Dick asked. He looked exhausted. Whenever a fight broke out (whether between Damian and Jason or Damian and Tim), the oldest of the sons was always the one who had to break it up. “He’s made a lot of progress, and you pissing him off all the time isn’t helping.”

“Not my fault he makes it so fun.” Jason shrugged, swallowing another mouthful of blood. “You know I’m not trying to make him worse.”

“I know.” With a sigh, the older man sat down heavily on the couch. “But the two of you keep bringing out the worst in each other. Is it really that hard to get along with him?”

“Have you met the kid?” he asked with a laugh. “That’s like asking me to make friends with a rabid dog.”

Letting out a long suffering sigh, Dick dragged a hand down his face. Honestly, Jason felt a bit guilty when he saw his older brother step in and handle the fallout. Dick had enough shit on his plate, but Jason couldn’t help making trouble.

“All I’m asking is for you to cut him some slack. He’s had a pretty rough time at school. Bruce is afraid he’s gonna get expelled, and then we’ll both have to put up with him throwing a fit about that.” Dick let his head fall back against the couch cushion, eyes closed. “One of his teachers called.”

“What did he do this time?” Jason wiped at his face with the back of his hand and, deciding the bleeding had stopped, sat down next to Dick.

“Not sure. Alfred just said she wanted to meet with Bruce and talk to him about Damian.”

“Could be a good thing.” Jason elbowed Dick gently in the side. “He was actually talking to one of his teachers yesterday when I picked him up.”

“Which one?” Dick opened one eye, curiosity piqued.

“The cute one,” he said, smirking.

Dick rolled his eyes, shoving Jason. He only laughed, letting himself fall over. 

“Shouldn’t have expected a real answer. I’m sure Bruce will tell me about it later.”

And of course, Bruce did tell him about it later. Dick had been Damian’s parent while Bruce was… indisposed, and so Dick usually was the one the elder Wayne went to when it came to his son. And, of course, Jason was the one Dick complained to about it. He was, unfortunately, aware of every bump in the road between the father and son, a confidant who wanted nothing to do with any of the situations. Most of the conversations usually ended with him spouting some empty platitude, Dick heaving that same old long-suffering sigh, and the two of them feeling even more frustrated. Jason was surprised, however, when the teacher in question was the cute one. Even more so when it turned out she thought Damian was not only a good kid, but had a natural talent for art.

“What the hell?” Jason laughed. “How long has the brat been hiding that from us?”

“Who knows,” Dick grumbled. The two were out on patrol, each costumed up and peering through binoculars at a potential drug den under Black Mask’s control. “He didn’t tell me anything about it. Apparently Damian actually asked the teacher to reach out to Bruce. She didn’t do it because of any kind of trouble he’d made.”

“Does Damian have another clone we don’t know about?” Jason toggled to infrared vision, tracking activity inside. 

“Not that I’m aware of. Bruce was actually surprised, too. Apparently she showed him some of his work. He said it was really good, not at all what he was expecting.” Dick was pouting. Jason could hear it in his voice. Dick had always been closest to the kid, and was no doubt taking this pretty hard. 

“I’d have been less surprised if you told me the brat grew a second head and started breathing fire.” Some new movement caught Jason’s attention. Three people inside, possibly armed. 

“I just wish Damian had told me,” Dick said. “If I knew, I would’ve helped get him some extra art lessons. Bruce is going to bring it up to him, see if he’s receptive to it.”

“Well, I’m good with anything that gets the kid off my ass.” Sitting up, Jason rolled his neck to work out a couple of knots. “Three hostiles, could be armed. You want me to help?”

“Nah.” Dick sat up as well, putting away the binoculars and limbering up. “Should be able to handle this myself. Do you have plans tonight?”

“Yeah, I do.” This teacher was really getting him curious now. First she digs out artistic talent in the kid, then she recognizes him somehow. He was gonna have to do a little big of digging. “Use the comms if you need backup.”

Dick gave him a little salute before jumping off the building, swinging towards the warehouse. Jason watched him for a moment before heading off in the other direction. A little visit to the teacher’s apartment wouldn’t hurt, would it? He’d already done a little bit of digging. Pretty unremarkable, really. Grew up in Gotham, went to art school in Metropolis, then came back to teach. Normal by anyone’s standard. But Jason’s gut said there was something more to her. 

Landing on the roof across from her complex, he scoped out the place. No one was home. Using the fire escape, he located the window to her living room. Unlocked. Sighing, he worked it open and slipped in silently. The place was small, decorated sparsely. A cat meowed at him and rubbed against his ankles, but quickly grew bored when Jason ignored it to sneak around the place. Small kitchen, stocked mostly with health food and coffee. He snuck into the bathroom, dug around. Prescriptions, and a lot of them. He didn’t recognize any of them, other than a couple of antidepressants, but made a mental note to look them up later. Throwing caution to the wind, he snuck into the bedroom.

A painting immediately caught his attention. It was a chaos of reds and black, violent in contrast. He would have written it off as just some abstract bullshit, but his brain suddenly recognized it. Blood on a dark concrete floor. Flames erupting. An explosion. Chaos and destruction perfectly encapsulated in one painting, all the colors brought strikingly to life. It was like the memory had been scooped out of his head and thrown onto the canvas. His gut churned, thoughts racing as he tried to make sense of it. How did she know? How could she have constructed it so perfectly? It defied logic. His breathing came quick and shallow. Panic choked him, and he stumbled back into the living room. So lost in his racing thoughts, he didn’t hear the key turn in the lock, didn’t hear the door open.

But he did hear the purse hitting the floor, the sharp inhalation. Jason whipped around to see her standing in the doorway, eyes wide with fear. Before she could scream, he rushed her and clapped a hand over her mouth. Kicking the door closed, he growled low in her ear as she struggled in his grip.

“Who the hell are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided to go ahead and put up the second chapter since it was already ready to go!! like this one a little more than the first.
> 
> if you read all the way down to here, thank you!! you can find me on tumblr at spidergwenn or on twitter @irlgwenstacy!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an explanation is given, plans are laid, and an offer is made
> 
> _"and i'm damned if i do and i'm damned if i don't_  
>  _so here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope_  
>  _and i'm ready to suffer and i'm ready to hope_  
>  _it's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat"_

On the list of things you were expecting upon coming home, being pinned against the wall by the Red Hood was definitely near the bottom. Panic running red hot through your veins, you pushed at his chest in an attempt to break free. His hand pushed hard over your mouth, voice rough and angry.

“Who. Are. You.” 

You pushed at his arm, trying to get his hand off your mouth. Apparently taking the hint, he removed his hand, but kept you pressed up against the wall. Catching your breath, you ceased your struggles for a second. You told him your name, staring up at his helmet. Where would his eyes be? How could you get your fear and confusion across to him?

“I know that,” he hissed. “I mean… what the hell is that painting?”

Heart thundering in your chest, you glanced over at the bedroom before looking back up at him. How had he gotten in? Why was he so upset about it? His fingers dug into your shoulder, and you tried to get your panic under control. 

“I… It’s a really long story. But the concise version is that I had sort of a vision thing. I was trying to figure out why I recognized… someone.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “But I ended up making that instead.”

The pressure on your shoulder lessened. “So you’re like… a precog or something?”

“No.” You shook your head. When you pushed against his chest again, he took a step back away from you. “It’s like… I don’t know. I get this bubbling feeling sometimes and weird things happen. If I channel it, I can make these paintings for insight into stuff. It’s always stuff in the past, but… I don’t know. I don’t understand that painting.”

The tension in the vigilante’s shoulders lessened, and he stepped away from you to pace in the living room. You watched him, each heavy footfall making you more and more nervous. 

“When did this start happening?” he asked.

“I had an accident in high school.” When he turned to you, you held up your hands. “Honestly. I’d rather not talk about it in detail. When I woke up, weird things started happening around me. Usually when I was panicked or scared. The doctors didn’t explain what was happening. They just gave me medicine to keep it under control.”

“So, let me get this straight.” The pacing resumed, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. “You got in an accident, woke up with powers, and then had them dampened by pills. But you were still able to make that painting.”

“I… skipped my pills one night,” you admitted. In this case, you figured honesty was the best policy. “I just wanted to figure something out. I have no idea what that is.”

The vigilante stopped pacing and turned back to you once more. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and motioned towards the bedroom. “It’s from my past.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say to that. At a loss for words, you shifted uncomfortably. “I’m… sorry?”

“Who were you trying to find something about?” His voice was sharp, hands tight fists by his side. You flinched, but answered him.

“Um, just… his name is Jason Todd.” Your voice shook. “I thought he seemed familiar. I must have lost focus or something. Maybe my mind wandered to you since you saved me that one night. I don’t know, I’m really sorry.”

With a heavy sigh, the Red Hood turned away from you. Each moment of silence seemed like an eternity, and you wondered if this was going to be the night that you died. With your last dosage being an hour previous, you couldn’t let your control slip and hope the piece of you that you couldn’t explain would save you. The vigilante finally turned back to you. 

“You don’t have to be scared.” He spread his hands out to his sides. “I overreacted, flew off the handle.”

“So does this mean you aren’t going to kill me?” you asked, nervous laughter bubbling up. 

“No,” he chuckled. “I’m not going to kill you. I should probably apologize for breaking into your apartment and assaulting you.”

“Why are you here?” you asked. Now that you were less afraid of having your throat slit, you slowly approached him. The aftershock of adrenaline rush had you shaking. “I don’t understand.”

“Just following a gut feeling.” He shrugged it off, but you were pretty sure he wasn’t telling you something. Not that you expected fully transparency from a masked vigilante with a body count. “The feeling just led me down a path I wasn’t expecting.”

The two of you watched each other for a tense moment. Finally, you broke it with a heavy sigh, kicking off your shoes and tossing your purse on the couch. “Look,” you said, “I’m not going to pretend that this isn’t weird. If I was smart, I’d call the cops. But we can chalk this up to a lapse of judgement on my part. Do you want a drink? After my day, I need one.”

First you had a lunch meeting with the most powerful man in the city, now you had a criminal in your apartment. May as well embrace the ridiculousness of the situation and just roll with it. Why not offer him a drink?

Red Hood surprised you by huffing out a laugh and collapsing into the nearest chair. “Sure. It’s been a weird day for both of us.”

“Huh. Okay.” Padding into the kitchen, you took down a couple of highball glasses you’d picked up at the thrift store around the corner. “I’m afraid my liquor collection is on the cheap side. Bourbon okay?”

“Totally okay,” he called back. “The cheap stuff is better anyways.”

Pouring a couple of shots worth into each glass, you watered them down a little and threw a couple ice cubes in each before returning to the living room. The vigilante was reclined in the chair, boots kicked up onto your coffee table. Biting back a rebuke, you handed a glass to him. 

“I wouldn’t know. A teacher’s salary doesn’t exactly cover expensive alcohol.” Moving to the couch, you kept an eye on him as you took a sip. The alcohol burned, warming you up. The weather was already cooling down, winter looming just around the corner. “Do you have a built-in straw for that helmet or something?”

He laughed again, deep and rumbling. It struck a chord in you, and you got that eerie sense of familiarity again. The moment passed when he shook his head, swirling the contents of his glass. “No, but that’s a good idea. I’ll just have to work with the honor system here and trust you to close your eyes for a few minutes.”

“Oh.” You blinked. Of course. He had to take off his helmet. Duh. “Right. Um, here.” 

Setting down the glass on the coffee table, you closed your eyes and put your hand over them. Clearing your throat, you asked, “Is this okay?”

“Scout’s honor you won’t look?” Amusement laced his voice, and you felt a shiver go down your spine. Down, girl. The guy had been ready to kill you just a few minutes prior. 

“I wasn’t a girl scout, but I promise I won’t. I enjoy not being shot.”

Another laugh. He was just trying to placate you, get your defenses lowered. That’s all it was. You took a deep breath when you heard a soft hiss. The helmet was off. You squeezed your eyes shut even harder. Without your vision, every sound seemed to be even louder. You could hear him set the helmet down on the table. Breath caught in your throat, you listened as he took a theatrically loud sip, swallowing dramatically. 

“Asshole,” you breathed. 

Red Hood just snorted, and his next drink was at a normal volume. He seemed to be taking his time, not slamming it all back so he could get that stupid helmet back on. Testing your luck, you spoke up again.

“You’re testing me, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I am.” Without the distortion from the helmet, his voice rung clear in the room. Deep, throaty, raspy. Familiar. “Maybe I’m just enjoying watching you squirm.”

Now he was definitely trying to get a rise out of you. Pressing both hands over your eyes, you sighed. You could get through this. Even if the curiosity was killing you, even if you had to know if that familiar voice really did belong to someone you knew. Being curious was better than being dead. You were so stuck in your own thoughts that you nearly jumped out of his skin when his voice came right by your ear.

“You’re being an awfully good girl.” Another throaty chuckle. He really was enjoying your discomfort. You fought back a shudder, trying to calm your thundering pulse. “You’re being awfully trusting. I could do a lot of things with your eyes closed.”

“Stop teasing me,” you exhaled. You’d wanted to sound annoyed, ready to punch him. Instead, you sounded breathless. Were you really that desperate? 

“Hmm.” You swore you could feel his breath on your cheek. You inhaled sharply. Smoke, leather, cheap bourbon, and something that made you shiver. Some kind of spiciness to his scent that cut you right to the core. Something familiar, yet again. “I guess I’ll be nice and stop.”

The couch creaked as he retreated, and you sagged in relief. A clink of the glass on the table, another hiss as the helmet went back on. Then his fingers were gently wrapping around your wrists, pulling your hands from your face. When you opened your eyes, that shining blank red stared right back at you. It was hard to hide your disappointment. 

“Thanks for the drink,” he said, stepping away. You watched him go to the window, opening it and glancing back at you. “By the way, you should lock your windows. You never know who might get in.” 

And just like that, he was gone. You rushed to the window, tried to see if you could spot him in the Gotham skyline. A flicker of movement caught your eye, but it was just a bird taking flight. Heaving a disappointed sigh, you closed the window and locked it. This was probably an important lesson. Don’t leave your windows unlocked, don’t lose control and make creepy paintings that piss off scary vigilantes. Common sense stuff, really. But as you picked your glass of bourbon back up and wandered to your room, you couldn’t help but give in to that itch to know more.

Even if it killed you, you were going to find out who was behind the Red Hood.

\----

“So let me get this straight: you broke into her apartment, attacked her, then took off your helmet and drank with her?” 

Tim Drake stared at Jason Todd in disbelief. The younger man was used to Jason’s antics, but this was a new brand of insanity. 

“Yeah,” Jason said. “Pretty much. You gonna finish your fries?”

The two of them were having their usual Saturday lunch at O’Shaughnessy’s, a ritual they’d started in an attempt to play nice and get Dick off their backs. It had worked, but although they were friendly now, Tim still couldn’t understand anything about how Jason operated. Their conversations usually devolved into the two of them talking in circles around one thing, both of them asking and answering the same questions. This, Jason thought, was going to be the topic Tim did laps around for the day. 

“Don’t deflect,” Tim said. He also nudged his tray closer to him, glaring at Jason. “And don’t steal my fries. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t really thinking, Tim.” Shrugging, he took another bite of his burger and spoke through a full mouth. “She’s totally harmless. I knew she wouldn’t peek, thought it would be fun to see her squirm.”

“God, is this how you flirt with girls?” Tim gagged. “That’s kind of twisted, dude.”

“Worth it.” Smirking, he swiped a fry from Tim’s tray. “Besides, I’m wondering if it might be worth seeing what else she can do.”

“She said she can only look into the past.” Tim tried to swipe a fry back, but Jason slapped his hand before he could. “Ow. Asshole. Anyways, if she was a precog that would be helpful. But I’m not sure how making messy psychic paintings of the past would be an asset.”

“Use that big, stupid head of yours, Drake.” Reaching forward, he thumped Tim in the head with his knuckles. “We have cases we’ve been running circles around. If I can get her to focus on an element of them, she might be able to dig up something.”

“You also said she took pills to keep it under control.” Rubbing at his forehead, Tim sighed. “That seems like a pretty big favor to ask. And there’s probably a reason why those doctors thought it best to repress whatever she can do. An untrained meta with no clue of what she’s capable of sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

“So we have her brain scanned or whatever and see what we’re dealing with. Plus, there’s gotta be records from her hospitalization kept somewhere. I didn’t find them during my initial search on her, but I also didn’t dig too deep.” Jason shrugged again. “You gotta take risks to get things done sometimes, Tim. Just do me this one favor and see what you can find, okay?”

Tim sighed, slumping in the booth. Even before the resignation showed on his face, Jason knew he’d won. “Fine. But the second I say so, we pump the brakes.”

“Whatever makes you feel better, Timbo.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Okay, Timbo.”

\----

When you hit a wall, you painted. It was a coping mechanism you’d picked up after the accident. Whenever something frustrated you, whenever you felt lost, whenever it felt like all control had been taken from you, you painted. Since you were currently feeling all three, it seemed the obvious solution. Your easel was set up, a fresh canvas was pulled out of the closet, and you broke out your oil paints for the first time in months. Ragdoll had even decided to be helpful by not trying to stick his paws in the paint every five seconds. He had curled up on the windowsill, basking in the sunlight and watching you set up. Coffee was set within reach, music was put on to play softly in the background, and you picked up your brush.

Even with a tight cap on whatever it was you could do, you entered a trance when you painted. The brush became an extension of some part of your subconscious, moving automatically. Music faded, background noise disappeared, and soon it was just you and the canvas. You paused every so often to drink your coffee. The scene was unfolding in deep grays and dark blues, bright splashes of color only just beginning to make their appearance. Your hand gravitated towards the red. Of course you were painting him. The source of your frustration and loss of control, saving your life and then threatening it only to fall back into easy friendliness once more. Your lizard brain was probably interested for… different reasons. But that was not something you were feeling up to tackling after a shitty night and very little sleep.

There was a lot for you to unpack from the night before. A lot that you should unpack, if you were being honest with yourself. What the hell had you been thinking, telling a stranger in a mask about what you’d been hiding for so many years? Why had you offered him a drink? Why had you put yourself in a vulnerable position, closing your eyes and playing along? Maybe you were losing your mind finally. You shoved all those thoughts back and away. Those were problems for future-you. 

Stepping back, you looked over the nearly finished painting. A dark alley, moon shadowed by clouds, darkened figures on the ground. Red Hood stood larger than life, towering in the frame of the buildings, red helmet shining and sinister. Not sure why, you followed instinct and dipped your brush into the green paint and placed a glint on the flat surface of that helmet. Another thing for you to unpack later, a certainty in your gut at that green reflection where the vigilante’s eyes would be.

Your ringtone shattered the carefully cultivated peace, making you jolt. Paint splattered everywhere, and you cursed under your breath. Ragdoll chirped, getting up from his perch and stretching as you rushed to answer your phone. 

“Hello?” you asked, the phrase a hard exhalation. 

“This is Bruce Wayne,” a voice answered on the other end. No question of your identity, no affirmation that he was talking to the correct person. Typical. “If you have a moment, I wanted to talk to you about Damian’s interest in art.”

Any irritation you felt melted away almost instantly. Trying not to sound too eager, you grinned as you replied. “I have all the time in the world, Mr. Wayne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter this time around. still working on the next one!
> 
> also [leans closer to the mic] i love tim drake and you cannot take that away from me.
> 
> as always, thank you for reading this far!! kudos and comments are appreciated


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an incident occurs.
> 
> _"but i'll only go so far_  
>  _i don't have the energy_  
>  _to risk a broken heart_  
>  _and you're already killing me"_

After one week of tutoring Damian in his home, you had come to one big conclusion about the Wayne household: they were all far too nosy for their own good. The first fifteen minutes of your time with the youngest son was always spent trying to politely get one of the other boys to leave. Dick was the easiest to get rid of, usually catching on quickly enough to make a graceful exit with a polite apology. Tim never got the hint. He was too curious, wanting to see your techniques and how good Damian was with his own eyes. It usually took a few blunt requests before he’d leave, although you suspected he was spying on you somehow. Jason, however, was the worst. He caught on quickly, but would ignore your polite yet strained requests for privacy. He didn’t leave but would instead settle into a chair somewhere behind you and just watch quietly. You spent the two sessions he sat in on feeling like your skin was slowly catching on fire, shoulders tense and jaw clenched. Bruce didn’t really bother you when you were in the manor. In fact, you were pretty certain that he’d only been home a couple of days, otherwise absent.

Alfred was the most pleasant occupant of the house. Always showing up at just the right times to offer tea or a snack, an excuse for a short break when you or Damian got frustrated with his refusal to really listen. The butler kept careful track of time, knowing somehow that the house overwhelmed you and you preferred leaving quickly when your time with the youngest Wayne was over. He kept Dick and Jason and Tim (and even Damian) from trying to take more of your time. You enjoyed the after school lessons, liked being able to give attention to just one student for an hour and a half at a time. The money was nice, too. But you were hesitant to insert yourself in Damian’s life any further than you already were. 

There was a professional line you weren’t quite willing to cross. You could be Damian’s teacher at school, his private instructor outside of school hours. But anything more than that was something you weren’t sure you were comfortable with. Bruce was paying you for your time, and to spend any more of it not doing your job would be taking advantage. So you politely declined every time Dick offered for you to stay for dinner. Even if Alfred’s cooking was as amazing as he claimed, it wasn’t your place. Tim and Jason never offered, but the two of them seemed to view you more as a puzzle to solve and a source of amusement, respectively. Dick Grayson however seemed to be determined to break through that professional wall, and the one day you’d almost given in you felt almost immediately guilty for it and quickly shut him down.

“Don’t approach this so analytically,” you told Damian. You were working with him on watercolors again, a bit jealous of the quality of supplies his father was supplying him with. “Art is more than just technique, Damian. Don’t look at the canvas like a series of ratios. Just feel out what you’re doing.”

“But you said that technique is the groundwork for all of this,” he shot back. His brush was being rinsed off violently, and you knew he was getting frustrated with you again. 

“Yes, it is,” you explained. “And you’ve got a lot of the basics figured out. You’re a fast learner.” A little compliment to butter up his ego. It helped if you wanted him to listen to what you were teaching him. “But technique only takes you so far. You can be a technically brilliant artist but never sell a painting. What really makes a piece great is the emotion in it. That little bit of self you put into it. It’s what makes people feel something when they look at a great piece of art.”

Damian snorted, dipping his brush into a deep navy blue and splashing it viciously on the night sky he was working on. “Sentimentality has no value.”

“Name a great painting,” you said. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you looked over his work so far. Well, if he was trying to get anger across, he was doing a great job. 

“The Ballet Class, Degas,” he shot back. You were surprised for a moment. You’d been expecting a different piece, not an Impressionist work. 

“Okay,” you said. You were familiar with the work, of course. The Impressionist movements was one of your favorites, one you had studied with great enthusiasm in school. “Well, one of the things about Impressionists that makes their work different is their use of light and color. So on a technical level, you have an attention to detail and lighting that gives a real atmosphere to the work.” You close your eyes, picturing the painting in your mind. A group of ballerinas, all attention on the star pupil and the teacher. A water can to clean the floor. A group of mothers in the background, a dog present. “But what really makes it effective is the emotion you can feel from each dancer. One is attentive, one is bored and scratching at her back. Each girl is different, and it’s because of the emotions you feel coming from them.”

“Hm.” Damian grunted, and you opened your eyes again. He hadn’t paused in his work, working on a gradation to a deep gray in one corner of the canvas. 

“For another example, I can tell from your brushstrokes here that you’re frustrated.” You grinned when he shot you an annoyed glare. “There’s a lot of anger in most of your work, Damian. When you feel something, you put it into your art. We just need to work on giving you a bigger range.”

“Whatever,” he grumbled. You stepped back, falling quiet again as he continued to work. His movements were over-exaggerated. He was taking something out on the painting, instead of letting it out naturally. This wasn’t anything new. His works this week had all been jagged, none of the usual precision that you usually saw.

Alfred interrupted with a pot of tea and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. The first couple of days you had been hesitant to accept his hospitality, but he’d worn you down pretty quickly. Those cookies were pure magic. The tea was always the perfect temperature, too. That day’s tea was floral, light and refreshing. Chamomile, definitely, with some other flavors you couldn’t quite place. A soothing blend, the butler no doubt picking up on Damian’s building frustration. You waited until the boy had finished his cookie before speaking up.

“Is something wrong, Damian?”

“Nothing is wrong,” he snapped back at you. He shoved his cup of tea away from him, refusing to look at you and glaring at the work in progress instead.

“I’d be more willing to believe you if it didn’t look like you were trying to punch through the paper,” you pointed out. “Do you not like the extra classes?”

Damian flinched. Bingo. You told yourself that your feelings weren’t hurt, but your pride felt a little bit bruised. 

“If you don’t want to focus on this, you should let your father know.” You sighed. “He was hoping this would be—”

“He wants to let this non-sense distract me,” he interrupted. His words were sharp, dripping with venom. “He is hoping that I focus on art instead of what I really want to do.”

“Oh.” That one stung. “Well, what do you want to do?”

“I was born to inherit his name,” Damian snaps. “I am the perfect heir, the blood son. He should be training me to take his place one day. Instead, he is trying to soften me with this.”

An uneasy feeling pooled in your stomach. The way he spoke about it, it wasn’t exactly normal. Truth be told, the look in his eyes made you feel a bit queasy. Damian was an intense kid, you knew that. But you hadn’t seen this side of him before. 

“I just think he’s trying to let you take steps towards being your own person,” you said. You kept your voice even, despite your white-knuckled grip on the mug. “I showed your father some of your work, and we agreed that you have a real natural talent—”

“You did this!” Damian screamed. You flinched, a bit of tea spilling out onto your lap. “You enabled him, gave him an excuse!”

“I’m sorry,” you said. It was getting hard to keep your voice even. You were confused, not knowing when he had suddenly changed his mind. The day before lessons, he had seemed so excited. He’d grown more and more angry with each lesson, but you weren’t sure why. “Damian, I don’t know what all of this is about but I promise I’m only doing this to help you.”

The pot of tea only missed your head by a fraction of an inch, shattering against the wall behind you. Scrambling back, you managed to dodge the mug he threw as well. Damian was screaming mad, rage bleeding from every inch of him. Hot tea splashed over your arms, drawing a pained hiss. Still, he did not stop. He threw the paint next, then the brushes, tearing the room apart. You’d managed to take several tubes of paint to the face by the time Dick burst into the room. 

“Damian, what the hell?” he yelled. Rushing forward, he grabbed the screaming boy by the wrists to keep him from ripping the watercolor apart. “Calm down!”

Jason was in the room soon after, brushing past the struggling boy and going straight to you. You were shaking, rattled by the sudden storm of violence. Of course you knew Damian was capable of it, but none of his meltdowns had ever been pointed at you. Your pulse thundered in your ears as Jason put his hands on your shoulders. 

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “Hey, look at me. You okay?”

“I…” Your voice died in your throat. The tea had burned you, paint was streaked in your face and hair, and you were surrounded by destruction. You were far from okay. Some of your panic must have shown, because Jason was ushering you out of the room with hushed whispers that it was going to be okay.

Dick was still struggling with Damian, the boy landing blows that sounded like they hurt as he tried to get himself free of the man’s grip. You watched Damian land a particularly brutal looking blow to Dick’s jaw, but the man still wrestled him to the ground, hissing something at him that you couldn’t hear. Damian had devolved into screaming in another language, pupils dilated and knuckles white as he landed blow after blow. Then you were out of the room, ushered down the hall by Jason’s hand pressing against the small of your back. Your vision blurred, the only warning you got before tears were spilling down your cheeks. Jason maneuvered you into a side room, closing the door behind you. 

God, you did not want to cry in front of this man. But you couldn’t stop the flood of tears, trying to stifle your sobs into soft hiccupping cries instead. You pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes, taking a shuddering breath. Why were you so upset? 

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay.” Jason pulled your hands away from your face, his brow creased with concern. That odd white streak in his hair had fallen into his eyes, which were focused intently on you. “What happened in there?”

“I don’t know,” you sobbed. Your breath came in shuddering little gasps. The shaking was getting worse, and you curled your fingers into fists to try to hide it. “I just asked why he’s been so angry during lessons and he just blew up.”

“Did he hurt you?” Jason was looking you over now, and you immediately felt morbidly embarrassed. Your face was a mess of tears, snot, and paint. Tea soaked the front of your blouse and cardigan, and your skin was an angry red from where the contents of Damian’s mug had splashed on you. Otherwise, you were fine. 

“No.” You shook your head. His fingers were still curled around your wrists, large and calloused but oh so gentle. You couldn’t look him in the eye. “No, just my pride.”

“He’s been on edge lately,” Jason explained. He released your wrists, his thumb coming up to brush at a bit of paint on your cheek. “Dick’s been busy with work so he didn’t really have time to talk to Damian about it.”

“I just don’t understand.” You pushed his hands away, blinking away another fresh round of tears. “He was so eager about these lessons at the beginning.”

“Damian and Bruce have a hobby together.” He pushed you back gently to sit in a chair, crouching down in front of you. You stubbornly avoided his gaze. “Bruce has been leaving him out of it lately. I think he’s feeling threatened of being left out entirely. This art stuff felt like a replacement, I think.”

“I’m scared for him.” The words were tumbling past your lips before your could stop them. You clasped your hands in your lap, a shiver going down your spine. “He said something about being the perfect heir. Like he was programmed to be a better Wayne or something. What the hell is his father doing to him?”

Jason heaved a heavy sigh. You glanced up long enough to see him running a hand through his hair, a distant look in his eyes. “Look, Bruce is trying. It was Damian’s mother that really screwed him up. She put a lot of twisted shit in his head and it’s hard to get all of it out. I know Bruce, and these lessons were his attempt to try to let the brat work some of that stuff out.” He caught your gaze, and you froze. “We were all hoping you’d be a good influence for him. The rest of us are fucked up in our own way.”

“I’m sorry.” Your breath caught in your throat on a sob. Disappointment in yourself flooded your chest, doused whatever hope you’d had. “I thought this would be good for him, too. Maybe… maybe we should stop the lessons.”

Jason’s face softened, and you felt your heart leap up into your throat. Usually he looked wounded, a guarded man using sharp humor to deflect the people around him. But for just that one moment, he let the walls down. He looked sad, the kind of sadness that etches itself deep into a person’s heart and never quite fades away. “Listen. I’m not really good at comforting people. That’s more Dick’s thing. But don’t give up quite yet, okay? Damian’s had a lot of people give up on him. It would suck to add you to that pile.”

“Okay.” Wiping at your eyes with your sleeve, you grimaced when it came away smeared blue and green. “I’m sorry for causing this outburst.”

“Not your fault he has a temper.” Jason snorted, resting his chin on his hand. “Not your fault you were there when he went off. No need to apologize. I’m sure Dick will talk to Bruce about all of this.”

That made you wince. If Bruce Wayne didn’t fire you for this, it would be the miracle of the century. The damage to that room would not be cheap to fix. You were pretty sure the mugs and tea pot Damian had broke were fine china, too. 

“Don’t look so glum,” he laughed. “You’re hardly the first tutor who’s been around when Damian tore up a room. You certainly won’t be the last, trust me on that. Bruce is a lot of things, but he’s not stupid. He knows his son, and the rest of us can vouch that you aren’t the type to egg him on.”

“I’m so gonna get fired,” you groaned. You cradled your face in your hands, embarrassed flush bleeding to your ears. 

“So what?” Jason moved forward, placing a hand on your knee. You suddenly became hyper-aware of the sensation of his skin on yours, the way his thumb stroked lightly. “There’s always other rich kids in Gotham with anger issues and an inner artist to unleash.”

The giggle bubbled up before you could stop it. You bit your lip, peeking through your fingers to see him grinning at you. When he smiled, it came with a predator’s edge, a darkening of his eyes that made you feel very small. His fingers tightened just a fraction, your breath catching with a soft but audible gasp. His hand was cold against your flushed skin, rough and calloused. There was a calculated look in his eye, like he was running some sort of calculus on you and how you worked. It made you feel raw and exposed, uncomfortable in your skin. Sometimes when you caught him looking at you, if felt like he was trying to cut through to the core of you, figure out what made you tick. 

It definitely shouldn’t have been eliciting this kind of response from you. Jason was the dangerous type of guy, the one to break a girl down and never build her back up. Calculating and withdrawn, much less warm and open than Dick and with less of the friendliness that Tim had. His hand skimmed just a few inches up your leg, fingertips slipping just under the hem of your skirt, and it was like the whole world froze. He watched you, trying to gauge your reaction. Honestly, you didn’t know how you were supposed to react. His adoptive father was technically your boss for an hour and a half each day and you were pretty sure that Jason had no skin in the game. It was no more than a bit of amusement for him, no feelings attached. You thought about pushing his hand away, softly turning him down. You also thought about twining your fingers in his hair and urging him on. The latter thought made your stomach churn. You weren’t that person. You couldn’t be that person. You’d only known Jason for a week, but you’d known guys like him before. The only thing in your future if you played along would be heartbreak.

Before you could turn him down, the door opened and Dick came in the room. Jason was two steps away from you in the blink of an eye, a calculated boredom plastered onto his face and body language. Like he hadn’t just been trying to test if you, like your brain wasn’t racing to catch up with everything that happened so far. 

“I’m so sorry,” Dick gushed, and before you could answer he’d already pulled you into a tight hug. You went stiff, not certain when he’d crossed the line to affection, but he didn’t let go. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine.” Your voice was muffled in his shoulder, and you finally gave in to the hug, relaxing against him. “I’m fine, promise.”

When Jason cleared his throat, Dick finally pulled away, hands on your shoulders and keen blue eyes examining your face. “I hope that paint doesn’t stain.”

“I think I got some on your shirt,” you said, sheepish. It looked expensive and utterly ruined.

“The shirt can be replaced,” he said. The concern in his eyes morphed into more of an amused sparkle. Dick was a good guy, with a good heart, and you’d liked him the second you met him. “You sure you’re okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

“Can you blame her for being shaken up by the demon brat throwing things at her?” Jason spoke up, arms folded over his chest. His expression was guarded, the softness you’d seen moments before gone up in smoke. “Bruce isn’t paying her enough.”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. The two men were glaring at each other, and you didn’t want the situation to become any more awkward than it already was. “But I think I’d like to go home. I know I didn’t finish up our time, but…”

“No worries.” Dick was just as quick to answer. “Go see if you can wash off some of that paint in the bathroom. I’ll pull a car around and give you a ride home.”

“Thank you.” Your smile was genuine, relief a warm flood to replace the cold discomfort you’d felt. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

Ducking out of the room, you tried to ignore Jason’s hot gaze on your back, fingers still shaking all the way to the bathroom. 

\----

Dick came up to your apartment with you, insisting that he at least see you to the door to ensure your safety. It was late, after all, and as shaken as you were neither of you trusted you not to stumble into trouble. Feeling a bit guilty, you invited him inside. He’d driven you, walked you up. The least you could do was offer him something to eat and a drink. Ragdoll had immediately decided that he loved Dick, brushing against his ankles and following him around

“I’m probably gonna be up late,” you said as you made your way to the kitchen. He followed, leaning back against the counter as you dug out your little stash of gourmet coffee. Bending down, he gave Ragdoll a little scratch behind the ears. “Do you want some coffee, or would you like something else? I’ve got some tea, water, kombucha…”

“Coffee would be good.” When you looked back at him, he offered a warm smile. Of course he could sense how nervous you were. “Thanks.”

“Thank you for giving me a ride home. The metro can be hell on weekends, especially late at night.” Turning on the coffee pot, you turned to face him. “I really appreciate it.”

“Least I could do,” he said, shrugging. “You’ve been good for Damian, despite his little fit today. Bruce has been putting him under some serious pressure. I’m sorry you ended up being at the end of one of his blowups.”

“Well, I’m not going to say it was okay.” You picked at a clump of paint in your hair, glad most of it had at least come off your face. “But I understand.”

Dick let out a little hum of agreement. Arms crossed over his chest, he seemed to be sizing you up. It brought a flush to your face, and you ducked your head to try to hide it. If you were being honest with yourself, Dick Grayson was devastatingly handsome. Charming, too, and he’d even gone out of his way to take you home. But you just… didn’t see him in that kind of light. You weren’t sure why. The guy was ideal in pretty much every facet. But when you tried to replace him with Jason in that room, thought of his hand on your knee, it didn’t bring the same kind of feeling. If anything, the image felt so platonic it was almost laughable. When you looked up to find him standing close to you, you nearly jumped out of your skin. His eyes searched yours, though you weren’t sure what exactly he was looking for.

“Did Jason do something to you?” 

The question took you by surprise. You stared up at him, mouth slack with shock.

“I… what? No. I mean, he tried to make me feel better, I think. That’s it.” You did not at all sound convincing, voice cracking and eyes dropping to your feet. 

Dick sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. “That’s what I thought. He didn’t… push too far did he?”

“No!” Your voice was a high-pitched squeak, and you shook your head. “No, he just… touched my leg. That’s it.”

“Hmm.” Dick didn’t look entirely convinced.

“Why do you ask?” That was the real question here.

“You looked like you’d seen a ghost when I came in the room,” he said, reaching out to ruffle your hair. “Plus I know him. He’s mostly harmless, but sometimes he pushes things too far.”

That was mortifying. Were you really so easy to read? Groaning, you leaned forward to rest your forehead on his shoulder. Dick just laughed and gave your head a pat. 

“Come on, coffee’s ready.”

“Right.”

Trying desperately to not look like you wanted the earth to swallow you up, you took down a couple of mugs. Dick drank his coffee black (you knew that much), and you decided to forego your creamer for the moment. Cradling your mug in your hands, you gave a tentative sip before glancing back at Dick. He was still watching you, cocking an eyebrow when he noticed your gaze. 

“I got some chocolate a couple weeks back, if you want any,” you offered. His easy grin was answer enough, and you found yourself smiling as well. 

Relocating to the living room, the two of you settled down on the couch. Dick made sure the chocolate was split evenly before digging into his share. Ragdoll jumped up on his lap, and he let the cat settle down to sleep there, gently petting him. He was easy to talk to, and before you knew it the two of you were trading life stories. Dick told you about his early life in the circus, about Bruce adopting him, about taking care of Damian while Bruce was out of the country. In return, you told him about your own childhood with a single mother in Butcher’s Block, about your brief stint in a hospital (leaving out the powers for the time being), and about your time in Metropolis. It turned out you were both huge Superman fans, and you shared stories of seeing the Man of Steel around the city. You made sure to omit one story in particular. Dick ate every story up, bemoaning the fact that Superman stayed out of Gotham for the most part. 

“What about Batman?” you asked. “Have you ever seen him? I never did, even as a kid.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dick nodded, shoving the last chocolate in his mouth and talking through the mouthful. “He’s shown up to stop a lot of stuff that I was in the general vicinity of. When I was in Bludhaven he didn’t show up there much.”

“Right, that’s Nightwing’s territory isn’t it?” You let out a dreamy sigh, turning your gaze up to the ceiling. “He saved me once in high school. It’s kind of a shame he’s not in Gotham anymore. He’s super dreamy.”

Dick choked on his chocolate, and you sat up in alarm. He held up a hand, swallowing the offending chunk and coughing. Beet red, he gave you a weak smile.

“Sorry, don’t know what happened.”

“You sure you’re okay?” you asked, worried. He was still red, clearing his throat and setting his mug down on the coffee table.

“Yeah, yeah, totally good.” He laughed, though it was forced. He almost seemed embarrassed. “Sorry, but I think it’s probably time for me to head back. Bruce should be home and he’ll probably want the full story from me.”

“Oh,” you said. You didn’t bother hiding your disappointment. “No worries. I, um. I had a lot of fun, Dick. Thanks for cheering me up.”

“Just doing what any friend would,” he said. The smile on his face was genuine, finally reaching his eyes. Standing up, you followed him to the door, making sure to retrieve his coat from the closet. “Take care, yeah? I’ll get your number from Bruce and keep in touch. Take the day off tomorrow, let me do a little disaster management. I promise everything will be okay.”

“I appreciate it. But I wouldn’t blame Bruce if he fired me.”

“He won’t.” Dick looked you in the eye, switching back to serious mode. “I promise. Try to get at least a little sleep, okay?”

“I’ll try. Thanks again, Dick.” You opened the door for him, and he stepped out, pausing for a second. 

Before you could ask what was wrong, he had turned back to press a kiss to your forehead. When he pulled back, he scanned your face for a reaction. You just blinked up at him, surprised. If he expected you to blush or immediately pull him back in for a proper kiss, he was going to be disappointed. You braced yourself to see that disappointment on his face, but instead he smiled brightly. God, was he testing you, too?

“Have a good night.”

With one last wave and a cringe-worthy, over-dramatic smacking kiss to your temple that had you both laughing, he finally headed out. You closed the door behind him, not sure how you felt. It had been nice to talk to him, and you were glad he was reaching out as a friend. The forehead kiss had been a little weird, but Dick did seem to be physically affectionate with his brothers. 

Eating the last piece of chocolate, you settled back down on the couch with your coffee and put on a movie. But even when you tried to push it out of your head, even when you went to bed, there was one thought you couldn’t get out of your head. You couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of Jason’s hand on your knee, at the easy slide up, the coolness of his skin. That look in his eyes, like he was trying to pick apart the best strategy to eat you alive, haunted you.

Jason Todd was going to drive you insane if he kept up that little game of his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [gestures to Slow Burn tag] i'm not messing around with that one folks. it's going slightly off the rails in this chapter and the next one, but i promise i'm taking it somewhere. just a couple notes!
> 
> first, here is the painting in question (if you can't tell, i'm a big fan of the impressionists): https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/438817 
> 
> second, i think dick is the kind of brother who makes sure potential love interests for the boys aren't actually interested in him in weird ways (i.e. the forehead kiss in this chapter). i promise the relationship with dick in here is 100% platonic
> 
> if you read this far, thank you so much!! kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> secrets are learned and a confrontation is made
> 
> chapter warnings: mention of overdose, veiled reference to suicide
> 
> _"am i too close?_  
>  _'cause you fold into me like a heart with a beat_  
>  _i know now, i know now"_

Detective work had always sort of been Tim Drake’s thing. It was what differentiated him from Jason and Dick, what made Bruce take notice of him in the first place. Tim was the smartest person in the family and not afraid to say so. He enjoyed getting cases from the others and enjoyed working with Barbara on them even more. In the case of Jason’s mysterious meta art teacher, he’d turned to Babs for help with any information from her time in Metropolis. Sorting through Gotham medical records was going to be enough of a diversion and he didn’t want to be spending too much time on this. Barbara had agreed, to his surprise, and kept him up to date on anything she found on her end. At first, it had just been prescriptions written during her time in art school. It was a substantial list for someone who had only lived there for four years. Most of the list was familiar: a standard cocktail of anti-depressants and anti-psychotics, a few downers and some powerful opioids that coincided with an incident involving Superman. 

The last one was the most significant thing they’d found so far. Barbara had managed to line up the date of the hospitalization and prescription notation with an explosion in a small housing complex in Metropolis her first year there. A small-time criminal had been arrested for it, Superman showed up and saved civilians from the rubble, the usual. Her records showed that she’d been admitted with a severe hip fracture, a concussion, and a collapsed lung. Tim couldn’t recall seeing her walk with even a hint of a limp when she’d been around for Damian’s art lessons. Either she’d recovered fast or she was still on some hefty pain killers.

The first week of research on his end hadn’t come up with much either. Her father died when she was still an infant, her mother worked several jobs to make ends meet, she was emancipated at 16 and graduated high school with honors. No records of having been in jail. She went to a public high school but her portfolio was impressive enough to get her not only admission but a substantial scholarship to Metropolis School of Art and Design. Bachelor’s degree in art history and illustration. Her employment record at Gotham Academy was clean too. Just a couple years of teaching under her belt, but her salary was going up at a competitive rate each time she re-signed her contract. 

Hospital records were Tim’s first hurdle. He had a key in to every hospital’s systems, of course. But the clinics and emergency rooms near her teenage address in Butcher’s Block showed no sign of her. So he expanded his search until he finally found her in the Gotham Central records. Seventeen years old, female. The moment he read the reason for admission, Tim immediately knew he’d stepped into something he shouldn’t have. Prescription drug overdose. Multiple bruises and lacerations consistent with a fall, possibly down a flight of stairs (this was the admitting nurse’s note). Cardiac arrest. Legally dead for 53 seconds. 

This was personal. The dark kind of personal, something people hid away for a reason. Tim scratched at his jaw, looking over the records again. Sure, Jason had asked for some sort of look into what her powers could be. But if he was really honest with himself, Tim had already pried more than enough. This was her life, not a little mystery to be solved. If she’d felt comfortable with sharing this information with them, she would have. There had been no reason to dig in, except for that utterly Wayne sense of superiority and curiosity to know everything. 

He called Barbara off on her end of the search. She hadn’t found anything else significant about the teacher, anyways. About the only conclusion they’d come to was that a) she had a bad habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and b) she was incredibly talented. Barbara had sent him a few links to some of the pieces she’d exhibited while in school. Her oil pieces were both their favorites, full of vibrant colors and jagged, fantastical landscapes and portraitures. 

Jason, of course, had not been pleased with Tim’s executive decision to call off the investigation. He’d even thrown a chair. When Tim pointed out that Jason was behaving like Damian, he’d had to dodge a second chair. 

“Look,” Tim said once Jason had reigned in his temper. “We’ve got a lot of information on her already. Stuff that she would have told you if you’d taken the time to actually talk to her. I don’t feel comfortable knowing some of the stuff I dug up on her.”

“I need to know what we’re getting into,” Jason snapped.

“What you are getting into,” Tim corrected. “I never said I had an interest in having her do whatever it is she does for me. I just agreed to do the footwork for you. She hasn’t had the easiest life, Jason.”

“You didn’t find anything about what the doctors may have found on her powers?” Jason was pacing. Tim hated it when he paced. 

“No. I stopped at the hospital admission records.” Standing up, Tim put a hand on Jason’s shoulder to stop his pacing. “It’s not like you don’t have access to her. She’s back to giving Damian lessons. Just talk to her. Like a normal person, for once. If she wants to, she’ll open up. If not, just leave her be. She’s not a toy. She’s a person.”

That shut Jason up. The two of them stared each other down for a moment before Jason finally relented. Stepping back, he held up his hands. “Fine. I hear you. She wants to participate, she’ll have to volunteer herself.”

“That’s all I ask.” Although he didn’t feel very good about it, Tim handed Jason a dossier of everything they’d found. “I’m giving this to you trusting that you won’t do anything stupid, okay? Don’t break what little trust you have left.”

\----

Of course, Jason had immediately read the dossier. Not because he was avoiding her or anything. He was just curious, wanted to have a base knowledge before he approached her again. Since the night of Damian’s fit, she had been avoiding him. She’d been avoiding everyone but Dick, actually. While he had no idea what had happened the night Dick gave her a ride home, they’d been practically attached at the hip. Dick, of course, plead the “Just Friends” excuse and pointed out that if either of them had been interested, he would have made a move by then. It made sense, and Jason knew it was the truth, but it didn’t stop a nasty little seed of jealousy from growing in him. She was just an art teacher, a potential asset to his cases. That was all his interest boiled down to. He had to remind himself of that.

But he knew why Tim had felt guilty once he reached the hospital admission records. Truth be told, he felt a little guilty himself. While he was by no means a goody two-shoes and made no claim to be morally right in any ways, Jason knew a personal story when he saw one. Had she been hooked on pills? In her neighborhood, it wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary. Good grades did not mean someone wasn’t a junkie. It was also possible she had been drugged at a party, fallen in an attempt to get away from someone. And of course, there was the option he didn’t want to think about any further; it was an easy conclusion to come to with a troubled teenage girl stuck in a shitty situation. Either way, he didn’t read further. Whatever else was in there, it was her story to tell. Not his to steal. 

The next day he’d tried to track her down in the manor. He’d heard her voice, Damian’s answering snark. But Dick had pulled him away for some bullshit errand. By the time he finished, he couldn’t find her again. Damian, once he tracked the brat down, declared that Dick had already taken her home. Groaning, he’d thrown his hands up and stalked out of the room. 

“Do not dare harass her, Todd! I will be watching you closely!” Damian had yelled after him.

Jason had responded with both middle fingers. 

And it kept on like that. He’d hear her somewhere, get sidetracked, and then miss her by a just a few seconds. It was on purpose, of course. She was still avoiding him. Had he been too forward that day? Maybe she was uncomfortable with it and didn’t want to turn him down to his face. He could handle rejection, of course. But he now had a burning curiosity to find out more, to unlock her little secrets himself. 

If that meant crossing a line, then so be it.

\----

“Jason knows you’re avoiding him,” Dick told you. He’d been driving you home for the past two and a half weeks, turning his brother away by your request. “It’s not going to end well, you know.”

“I’m not really avoiding him,” you said, “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do or say around him and it makes me feel weird. I’m just avoiding potential awkward situations around him, that’s all.”

Dick laughed, glancing over at you as he turned off into your neighborhood. “That’s some impressive mental gymnastics, girl.”

You sighed, slumping further in the seat. You were totally avoiding Jason Todd. But you really didn’t want to end up in some terrible, weird, awkward situation with him. Things were still strained enough with Damian. You didn’t want to have another one of the Wayne wards put you on their shit list. Reaching up, you tugged at the ends of your hair. You’d gotten it cut into a short bob just a few days ago. Clumps of paint had glued up in it so badly that you hadn’t been able to get them out, so the haircut had been necessary.

“I know I’ve said this before, but the hair cut looks good,” Dick said. The guy had to be a mind reader.

“Thanks. I just miss being able to put my hair up in a ponytail. It feels weird. My head is just so… light.” You shrugged. “I’m still adjusting.”

“Short hair is in. Just embrace it.” 

You hummed in response, staring out the window. Gotham really was beautiful at night. It was a twisted, dark, cruel beauty, but still beautiful all the same. Maybe you were biased, having grown up in its shadow. But you liked these car rides. The metro was underground, and the closest thing to a beautiful sight there was an empty car that didn’t smell like stale piss. The ride was over too soon (as always), and Dick pulled up right in front of the complex. 

“Thanks again, Dick. I appreciate it,” you said, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze that you’d hoped wouldn’t be awkward but was, of course, super awkward. 

“You’re welcome,” he laughed, mirroring the gesture before letting you get out of the car and scramble inside to hide your embarrassment. 

As always, the car lingered until you were in the front door and waving him away. You watched Dick pull away, heaving a sigh. Honestly? This whole thing was getting out of hand. It was getting harder and harder to avoid Jason, and he’d come close to finding you the night before. You’d had to hide behind a display case as he wandered past. It was exhausting. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep it up, but the fear of seeing Jason again had gotten you this far. Caught up in your thoughts, you tripped on your way up the stairs three times and almost walked right past your own door. Fishing your keys out of your purse, you unlocked the door and shuffled inside to kick off your heels and toss aside your coat and purse.

“Ragdoll, baby,” you crooned, “Mommy’s home—”

There was someone in your apartment. You froze when you spotted the dark figure on your couch. Your traitorous cat was purring, curled up on their lap. Fear rooted you to the spot, fight or flight instinct kicking in. You screamed bloody murder as the intruder rushed up, a hand clapping over your mouth to cut it short.

“Don’t scream,” Jason Todd snapped. “I’m not here to kill you.”

Shoving him away, you briefly considered digging the taser out of your purse and going to town on him simply for scaring you so badly. Instead, you shoved at his chest again. 

“How the hell did you get in? This is totally illegal,” you hissed at him.

Jason didn’t seem to be hearing a word you said. Instead, he was just staring at you. He was, you realized, surprised. 

“You cut your hair,” he breathed. His voice had dropped a pitch and you had to swallow a lump in your throat. The way he was looking at you… it wasn’t calculated. There was no predatory glint to it. Just sheer awe.

“Some of the paint got gummed up in my hair,” you admitted. “I, um. I had to get it cut.”

“It looks…” He paused. You weren’t really sure what exactly the look he was giving you meant, but it had a flush rising to your cheeks. “It looks really good.”

“Thank you.” Shit, you sounded breathless. Clearing your throat, you turned your head away from him. “You haven’t told me how you got in.”

“Oh.” Jason blinked once, twice, three times. Then he seemed to come back to his senses, rubbing at his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. People used to call me the Lockpick Kid. I was so good at picking locks.”

“That’s lame.” You snorted, then reminded yourself that no, you were mad. “And wildly illegal. I could call the cops.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Shrugging, he spread his hands out to his sides. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“Literally anything other than break into my apartment?” you suggested. Pushing past him, you made your way to the kitchen to put down dinner for your cat. Traitorous as he was, you still loved him and didn’t want him crying all night long about how hungry he was. “And I wasn’t avoiding you. I just… didn’t want to make things awkward.”

You turned to find Jason leaning against the wall behind you, clearly unimpressed by your reasoning. Arms folded over his chest, your forbid yourself from noticing the way his shirt clung to his biceps. You tried to move past him, but he blocked your way. 

“I don’t think so.” Jason advanced on you, steps slow and predatory until your back hit the fridge. Placing a hand next to your head, he leaned forward and you were very keenly aware of just how big he was compared to you. “No more. Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it.”

“What?” Staring up at him, your nose wrinkled in confusion. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just…”

“You’re just?” He urged when you trailed off. God, you would have given anything to have just died right there on the spot.

“I’m embarrassed, okay?” you blurted. Ducking your head again, you wrapped your arms around yourself. “I got really emotional that night. I don’t like crying in front of people, and I know it makes things weird.”

“Why would that make things weird?” His voice was soft, gentle, rumbling in his chest. Still, you didn’t dare look up. “You were upset. You’re allowed to get upset when someone goes into a dissociative rage and throws things at you.”

“It felt intimate.” It was hard to admit. Every word stung, drawing you further in on yourself. “I don’t like being that open. It felt intimate and that scares me.”

Silence stretched out between the two of you. Jason did not draw away, and you only curled further in on yourself. Your fingers dug into the fabric of your sweater and you ignored the sting in your eyes. Not again. You would not allow yourself to cry in front of him again. 

“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.” When Jason spoke again, you risked a glance up at him. His eyes met yours, and you could see the sincerity there. “No bullshit. Sometimes I cross lines that I shouldn’t. You know, like breaking into your apartment to confront you.”

That drew a startled laugh from you, and his lips twitched up in a tiny smile. 

“I was trying to make you feel better,” he admitted. “I got caught up a little too much in the moment and pushed it too far.”

“It’s not that,” you mumbled. His head dipped closer to yours to hear you better, and you had to turn away. He was so close. You could feel his breath fan over your cheek. “I just… it felt nice. It took me by surprise.”

Jason’s breath caught in his throat. Squeezing your eyes closed, you shivered as his fingers skimmed your jaw and carded through your hair. It was happening again. That electric feeling, a warmth pooling in your gut. You couldn’t. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to push him away. 

“I don’t want to scare you.” His voice was right by your ear, breath fanning over the flushed skin. “You’re fascinating.”

Just like that, everything clicked into place. The hot gaze on your back when you walked away from him, the teasing jokes, the lingering touches. Jason Todd wanted to fuck you. He barely knew you, but you didn’t think that mattered much to him. You couldn’t. Even if there was some visceral, animal part of you that screamed to just give in, you couldn’t do it. There were endless reasons why. You didn’t want to ruin your friendship with Dick. You didn’t want to ruin the fragile peace you’d established with Damian again. You didn’t want to be nothing more than a fling. And, most of all, you didn’t want to let him get that close. Not yet. You weren’t ready to bear every ugly part of yourself to him. 

So you finally brought your hands up and gently pushed at his chest. To his credit, Jason backed away immediately. Biting back tears, you forced yourself to look at him. He looked back at you, no hurt in his eyes. Just a deep understanding. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice wavered, on the verge of crying yet again. “It’s not that I don’t like you. I just… I don’t know you, Jason. At all. I can’t take that kind of risk.”

“That’s okay.” The kindness in his tone nearly undid you. But you blinked back the tears, keeping your eyes on his. “I know I’m a bit of a prick—” 

“Understatement of the century,” you interjected.

He laughed, loud and genuine, and there was that pull of familiarity again. “Fair. I know I’m an enormous prick, but I’m not going to pressure you into anything. You say the word and I’ll leave you alone.”

Why was he being so kind? Jason delighted in tormenting his brothers when you were around, constantly going out of his way to piss Damian off. Dick had shared many a story of just how cruel Jason could be when he didn’t want to pull punches. But you didn’t see any of that. Just an unwavering acceptance. 

“You’re infuriating,” you said instead. Wiping at your face, you laughed weakly. “I think I’ve got you all figured out and then you pull this on me.”

“I like to be unpredictable.” He winked, and you rolled your eyes. 

“Sure, we can go with that. I don’t want you to completely disappear, Jason Todd. Just let me go at my own pace, okay?”

“Deal?” Giving you a reasonable amount of space, Jason stuck out his hand. 

You took it, giving it a firm shake. “Deal. Now please get out of my apartment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [slams fist on table] jason todd is actually a big softie you can't change my mind!! also, keep that Slow Burn tag in mind. i really ain't playing with that, babes. things go back on the rails in the next chapter, i promise. 
> 
> if you've read this far, thank you!!! kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time passes and peace is shattered 
> 
> chapter warning: vomiting, mild violence
> 
> _"sometimes i think it's getting better  
>  and then it gets much worse  
> is it just part of the process?  
> jesus christ, it hurts"_

Three entire weeks passed without any further drama. Quite frankly, you couldn’t believe it. You woke up every morning expecting to find out that the city was on fire, or that your pills had been switched out with tic tacs, or that you’d had an episode in the middle of the night and demolished your apartment. The weather changed and final exams came and went. Winter hit full force and Alfred always greeted you when you came to the manor for Damian’s lessons with a warm mug of hot cocoa. Simone left the city for winter break to see her family, but sent you daily updates. Jason had kept up his end of the deal and took things slow, catching himself before he took that extra step too far and taking the time to get to know you. And, most frustratingly, you had found out nothing new about the Red Hood.

The vigilante was still active, of course. You got Google alerts when anything new popped up on him. But it was all the same stuff. Dead gangsters, a sighting of him and Nightwing working together (you had made sure to text Simone and let her know her favorite ass was back in Gotham), the same think-piece written over and over again debating his morals. It was all terribly boring. You’d hoped to see him yourself, maybe get another tug in the right direction. But Red Hood had been busy in other parts of Gotham. One night, you caught yourself staring out the window hoping to catch a glimpse of him like some star-struck teenager. Angry at yourself, you’d banned yourself from looking outside after dark for three whole days. It was eating at you, not being able to track him down. You were so close, you knew you were. But that final piece of the puzzle refused to fall into place. 

Damian had opened back up to you, slowly but surely. It took a lot of patience and more than one sleepless night feverishly writing down lesson plans that could bust him out of his shell. But he’d gotten there, just like you knew he would. Anger didn’t bleed into his art anymore. Maybe a little bit of frustration, some bitterness. But a sense of loneliness had crept in. Bleak landscapes and muted colors dominated. The two of you had agreed to focus on watercolor, but even a medium so perfectly tailored to bleeding colors couldn’t pull him out of his funk. 

You’d met with Bruce more than once on it. He’d wanted updates on Damian’s progress and your unfiltered opinion on how he was faring. The man was an enigma, his charm so forced that it almost made you sick when he tried to lay it on thick. You preferred it when he was in one of his dark moods, his true colors shining through only then. Bruce Wayne scared you, but you preferred an honest fear to a fake friendliness. He’d tried to get Damian out to meet more kids his age, and you’d tried to convince him to take a couple of art camps in the summer. Both suggestions were immediately shot down, and you were back at square one. Damian was no longer throwing things at you, but you almost preferred that anger to his overwhelming loneliness.

Dick knew. Of course, Dick knew. The man was more of a father to Damian than Bruce was, although you’d never say it to either of them. When Damian needed advice, or emotional support, it was always Dick Grayson that he went to. You’d become one of his venting sources, listening patiently on your drives home as he aired his frustrations with the father and son. It was a hard place to be stuck in, but he handled it well. Dick cared about both of them deeply and tackled each problem head on, no matter how tired he was.

A couple of days after end of term, you’d finally met Stephanie Brown and Barbara Gordon. Tim had introduced you to them, their eyes lighting up at the mention of your name. Stephanie had gushed about the stories she’d heard, about the art she’d seen from Damian when he left it out and didn’t know she was spying. She was a fun, bubbly sort of girl, a good contrast to the sometimes overly serious and sullen Tim. Barbara wasn’t as bubbly, but had the same warm, kind aura as Dick. When she smiled, it was genuine. She’d actually taken time to track down some of your old work, paintings you’d displayed in galleries, and praised it. You’d never admit it to anyone, but it had touched you deeply to know not only that she had been interested in your work, but loved it, too. Both girls had exchanged phone numbers with you, but you kept up more regular conversation with Barbara. She was located in Burnside, far enough away that you didn’t get many chances to see her, but she’d become a good friend regardless. You’d even taken a night off to go see a show that her girlfriend, Dinah, was putting on with her band. 

It was a new kind of normal, but you didn’t mind. It was nice to have structure in your life. Even over winter break, you had found that you usually followed the same schedule: Wake up early, coffee, feed the cat, shoot off your morning text to Barbara (who kept insisting that you call her Babs, but you weren’t quite at the nickname stage of friendship), check up on the news, scroll through Google alerts, meet Dick for breakfast, more coffee, work on painting, check your alerts again, meet Stephanie for lunch, ride the metro to the manor, give Damian his lesson for the day, turn down dinner invitation from Alfred, get a ride home from Dick, check your alerts one last time before bed. It played out the same, with only a little variation (sometimes you met Jason for lunch instead, sometimes Bruce joined Dick for breakfast and you spent the entire time scanning the area for paparazzi). 

So, of course, your peaceful sense of normalcy was bound to go down in flames at some point. 

The first sign that your luck was taking a downward spiral was the call from your usual pharmacy. They didn’t have risperidone available, and you only had enough doses for the next day and a half. Trying very hard not to fly into a panic, you tried several other pharmacies in the area. None of them would be able to get you a refill for at least a week. You bit the bullet and decided to wait it out at your regular pharmacy, hoping that missing the one pill from your regular cocktail for a few days wouldn’t present too much of a risk. Taking a few days off from Damian’s art lessons was not an option. With both Christmas and the next auto-draft for your student loans coming up fast, you needed that extra money.

A few hours the morning after your first skipped dose, you knew something was immediately wrong. At breakfast with Dick, a wave of nausea passed through you after your first bite of food. You had to run to the bathroom, and barely made it into a stall before you began to vomit. It was violent and mostly bile that stung your throat. When you came back out, mascara smeared and voice hoarse, Dick immediately knew something was wrong.

“Should I take you to the ER?” he asked, flagging down a waitress to get the check. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks, Dick.” Your voice rasped, head spinning. “I’m fine, just a bad morning. Might have eaten something bad last night.”

He was not convinced, but didn’t push the issue. “You should take the day off. I can tell Bruce, it’s—”

“No.” Taking a deep breath, you pushed through another wave of dizziness and nausea. You’d been through worse. “I’m fine, Dick. Whatever is going on, I’ll push through it.”

“Geez.” Dick sighed, leaving enough to cover the food and a massive tip before coming over and putting a hand on your elbow. “At least come to the mansion and let Alfred take a look at you. Believe it or not, he’s got a little bit of medical training.”

“You could tell me that Alfred knew how to belly dance and I would believe you.” Both of you chuckled. You allowed yourself to lean into Dick. He was a gym rat, he could handle your weight. “I don’t want to put him out.”

“Trust me, you won’t be.” Supporting you with an arm around the waist, he led you to the car and helped you get in. The dizziness was getting worse and you were afraid you were going to throw up all over Dick’s nice leather upholstered seats. “If anything, Alfred will be glad you came to him. You wouldn’t want to break his heart, now, would you?”

“Asshole,” you murmured. The world was spinning. You closed your eyes just for the moment, and when you opened them again you were parked in front of Wayne Manor. “What the hell, Dick, can you teleport?”

Dick was already leaning over to press a hand to your forehead. “You’re freezing. Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

“No.” You shook your head, the movement sending splitting pain through your temples. You hissed in pain, clutching at your pounding head. “No, Dick…”

Then he was there, lifting you out of the car and urging you to put your arms around his neck so he could carry you in on his back. Each movement sent screaming pain up your nerves, your muscles locking up. When Dick deposited you on the couch, you screamed again. Through the haze, you could only make out snippets of conversation. 

“—the hell—pale as—” That was Jason. Deep voice frantic, calloused hands on your cheeks. 

“—touch—some kind of—” Alfred, constant and calm. Jason’s hands disappeared, replaced by the butler’s warm fingers feeling for your pulse. 

“—what did—kill you, Grayson—” Definitely Damian. You hoped he wasn’t picking a fight with Dick.

“—Back away—some kind of—in the cave—” Bruce Wayne. God, you wanted to die. It was one thing to have Alfred, Dick, Damian, and Jason see you in this state. His tone was commanding, allowing no room for argument.

Someone picked you up, sending another wave of pain through your body. You screamed, thrashing as much as your body allowed. Your hand connected with someone’s jaw, your foot with someone else’s shoulder. There was cursing, the person carrying you tightening their grip. It was like a vice around your ribs, another scream ripping out of you. The world faded and blurred, lights flickering in and out of your vision. You didn’t know where they were taking you, but it was cold. Shivers wracked your body, the cold only inflaming the hot pain that kept coming in waves. 

“Her pills!” That was Tim. When had he come in? Blinking against the light, you tried to focus your eyes on his face. “Dick, did she say anything about her medication?”

“No.” Dick’s face came into view, a bruise blossoming on his jaw. “You think this might be a reaction?”

“The cocktail she’s on seems specific. If she cuts all of them, she can still function close to normal.” What? How did they know about all of that? You tried to push yourself up, but your arms gave out. Tim continued, ignoring your strained cries. “But if she just cuts one, there could be weird side effects.”

“How do you…” your voice was weak, but the sound of it silenced the men in the room. Blurry faces all turned in your direction. Your stomach turned and before you could say anything else you were vomiting again.

“Oh god,” Jason groaned. “She got my shoes.”

You collapsed back onto the surface they’d put you on. Each breath was an effort, burning your lungs. You tried to speak again, but another crashing wave of dizziness rolled over you. Just before the world went dark, you heard the crack of your head on the floor as you fell.

\---

“Shit!” Dick yelled, kneeling down by her unconscious body. The other men watched nervously as he pressed two fingers to her neck. “She’s got a pulse. Jason, help me get her back up.” 

That shook Jason out of his stupor. Kicking off his (now ruined) shoes, he rushed over and helped Dick lift her body back onto the examination table. They’d risked taking her down to the Batcave. She’d been so out of it, he doubted she’d noticed any of her surroundings. Alfred was already turning on the brain scanner, Bruce firing up programs on the computer. Dick was holding her hand, brushing hair from her face. Tim had joined Bruce to help decrypt whatever the scanner was finding. Jason just stood and stared, not sure what he was supposed to do. Her skin was so pale. It had been cold to the touch when he’d carried her down the tunnel to the cave. Her whole body had been convulsing, just his touching causing her to scream in agony.

“What the fuck is happening?” Once he found his voice, shook himself out of his stupor, all he could dredge up was anger. 

“Her brain activity is off the charts.” Tim was staring at the results on the monitors, eyes wide. “She’s unconscious, but her mind is in overdrive.”

One of the monitors shattered. All of them froze. Tim’s mug lifted into the air, followed by the surgical implements Alfred had laid out next to the table. Wires came bursting out of the scanner, the feed on the monitor shorting out. One by one the rest of the monitors cracked and exploded. Bruce and Tim backed away, covering their heads as the keyboards exploded too. Electricity crackled in the air, the display cases shattering. 

Then Dick went flying backwards. He slammed into Bruce, sending both of them crashing back into the wall. Alfred managed to dodge a scalpel that shot towards his head, embedding itself in the wall behind him. Tim was the next to go flying across the room, crashing against the batmobile and crumpling to the ground. 

“What the fuck?” Jason screamed over the sound of shattering glass and screeching metal. Dick and Bruce were both back on their feet, faces grim. 

“Jason,” Bruce yelled, “step away from her.”

“What?” Jason turned back towards where the girl had been laying unconscious. 

Her body was floating. Suspended by some unseen force, she’d lifted off of the table as if a rope had been tied around her middle. Her limbs hung limp, even as she continued to levitate. Jason stared as her fingers twitched, the table under her crumpling as if it were made of tissue paper. Dick’s hand pulled at his shoulder, jerking him back when he tried to reach out for her. 

“Whatever powers she has,” Dick yelled in his ear, “they’re out of control. We need to get her out of here!”

Damian ran past them. Bruce yelled at him to get back. The kid must have heard the destruction from upstairs. He reached out for his teacher’s body before either Jason or Dick could stop him. The kid froze in his tracks as if he’d been put on pause. The three men watched in horror as he was lifted off of his feet and thrown backwards. Dick managed to throw himself in the way, catching Damian and skidding backwards. 

“Jason, suit up.” Bruce’s voice was cold and hard. The Batman voice. “Dick, you look after Tim and Damian.”

There was no time for questions. Jason had already flung off his shirt and pants, pulling on his body armor as fast as he could. Something shattered, but he didn’t pause. Once the helmet had slid into place, he turned back to Bruce. The older man was staring at her, expression unreadable. There was no doubt in Jason’s mind that the man was cooking up some kind of plan. They’d faced powers like this before, although usually the person behind them had been conscious.

“Alfred, get to the panic room,” Bruce said. “Jason and I are going to get her somewhere isolated.”

Glancing back at her, Jason blanched. Her body was now floating about 10 feet from the ground, hair floating around her head. Her eyes had opened, rolled back to expose the whites. Power crackled around her, the air in the cave going cold. When he sighed, his breath fogged. 

“Of course she had to be telekinetic,” Jason grumbled. He looked around, trying to find something, anything that would help get the situation under control. His eyes landed on a fire blanket. 

“Bruce!” He retrieved the item in question and came back to stand next to his mentor. “I have a plan. Take one corner of this.”

It took a moment, but Bruce eventually caught up with Jason’s train of logic. He took one end of the blanket without a word, glancing at Jason. A deep breath in, then a deep breath out. When Jason nodded, they charged her. Something cracked near Jason’s ear, but he did not stop. With Bruce next to him, they managed to launch themselves off of the floor and he threw his end of the blanket over her. Bruce did the same, both of them holding it tightly around her. They went crashing to the ground, Jason just barely managing to cushion her head and keep it from cracking against the ground again. Bruce had tied up her feet, working on another binding around her middle to keep her arms bound. Jason muttered a quick apology before shoving his helmet over her head. Pressing a button near the temple, he shut the air vents. Her body thrashed one, twice, three times before finally going still. After counting another five seconds, Jason flipped the vents open again and turned to Bruce.

“Get her on my bike. Quick.” 

“Jason—” 

“Just trust me, Bruce.”

There was a beat, their eyes meeting for a moment before Bruce finally nodded. Jason fit his domino mask over his eyes while his mentor lifted the girl up like she weighed nothing. Once he was on his bike, Bruce made sure she was secured to both Jason and the back of the bike before stepping back. No other words were exchanged. Jason revved up the bike and sped out of the cave. 

“C’mon, babe,” he growled. Weaving through traffic, he gunned it once they hit the outskirts of Gotham. “You’ve been out for too long. You gotta wake up.” 

Her head rolled forward on his shoulder. Windshields shattered around them, streetlights exploding as he pushed his bike to its limits. Jason prayed to every god he’d ever heard of that he could get the bike to Gotham Harbor without her blowing both of them up. With every second that ticked by, his fear grew that she may not wake up ever again. The warehouse he’d taken over appeared in the distance, and he pushed the bike just a little bit harder. 

“Just a little farther, okay? Just a little farther and you can let this all out,” he yelled over the sound of the engine. One of the cars ahead of him spun out and he swerved hard, just barely avoiding getting hit. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck, teeth aching from how hard he was clenching his jaw. “Almost. Almost there. C’mon—”

Jason skidded to a halt in front of the warehouse. Working fast, he tossed the girl over his shoulder and ran for the edge of the dock. This had to work. It was the only thing he could think of. He just hoped that he wasn’t going to put her life in (too much) danger. Setting her down at the edge of the dock, he slipped the helmet off of her. Her eyes had slipped closed again, a trickle of blood running from her nose. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Then he kicked her over the edge and into Gotham Bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the exposition dump/lazy time skip y'all. but surprise, shit's gotten real!! if you've ever watched mob psycho 100, reader's powers are somewhat based on mob's. obviously a little less op, but with the "powers go nuts when unconscious" thing.
> 
> also fun fact, cutting strong antipsychotics cold turkey can wreak havoc on brain chemistry. decided to go ahead and play around with that so chaos could ensue. 
> 
> if you've read this far, thank you!! kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> secrets are shared
> 
> _"let down my guard tonight  
>  i just don't care anymore  
> i've told a hundred lies  
> but i don't wanna tell you any at all"_

When you came to, you couldn’t breathe. Something was weighing you down, keeping you from moving. You opened your eyes and screamed, watching the air bubbles rise. Where were you? Why were you in the water? It was freezing, sapping the warmth from your body. Somebody had wrapped you up in a fire blanket, bound tightly with rope you didn’t recognize. You thrashed, trying to break free. You tried to piece together what had happened since Dick had carried you out of the car, but everything was a blur. The power fizzled and popped under your skin, and you could have sworn it had melted your bones and boiled your blood. 

Someone jumped into the water. You saw their shadow as they swam towards you. Red glinted in your line of sight, and you would have laughed if your lungs weren’t so full of water. The Red Hood grabbed the blanket and pulled you up. When you broke the surface, you coughed up huge mouthfuls of water, bile mixing in with it. You tasted blood, trying to suck in the cold winter air. The vigilante had used a grappling gun to pull the two of you up, and he set you gently on the ground once you made it up to the dock. He turned you onto your side so you wouldn’t choke on the vomit, a few last weak coughs leaving you as he untied you. The blanket and your clothes were sopping wet, cold air immediately piercing you to the bone. 

“Hey, talk to me, sweetheart.” That shining red helmet entered your field of vision, gloved hands clasping your face. “You with me?”

“I’m freezing,” you coughed out. “I think I’m dying.”

He sagged in relief, huffing out a breathless laugh. “Thank god. Thought we’d lost you.”

“How did I get here? How did you find me?” Shivers wracked your body, curling in on yourself in an attempt to keep more warmth from seeping out of you. 

“Got a tip from someone I trusted that a meta was going haywire. When I found out it was you, I offered to snap you out of it.” His hands slid down to your shoulders. “We can talk later. Right now, we need to warm you up.”

“Okay.” Your head was pounding, every inch of your body aching nearly as much. You wanted to know what had happened, but you knew that warming up was more important. “Okay.”

Red Hood coaxed your arms around his neck and scooped you up like you weighed nothing. Although his uniform was as soaked as your own, you curled into him, seeking out his body heat. With your head pressed to his shoulder, you could hear his steady breathing. You tried to focus on the sound of it, the steady rise and fall of his chest, to try to ward off lingering panic. Once you were inside, he ascended a set of stairs up to a loft area. Weakly raising your head, you noticed a ratty futon, an armchair upholstered with neon orange fabric, a high tech computer set up, and a space heater. Red Hood set you down on the futon, unlooping your arms from around his neck so he could turn on the heater and move it closer to you.

“I’m going to head down, grab a couple of things. You need to get out of those clothes. There’s a blanket here next to you that you can wrap yourself up in while I get some dry clothes for you.” The vigilante paused for a moment, pushing wet hair from your eyes. 

Then he was up and gone, sauntering away. You waited until you could no longer see his back to reach up and start undressing. The cardigan was easy enough to slip from your shoulders, and after a few seconds of fumbling you managed to get your skirt and blouse off as well. Although you were sure it would bite you in the ass later, you were glad your flats had been lost at some point earlier in the day. For a moment, you sat shivering in your slip and underwear. Were you really about to strip naked around a complete stranger? Necessity eventually won out and you peeled the slip and your bra and panties off before wrapping yourself up in the blanket. Even out of your wet clothes, bundled in a warm, thick blanket and sitting in front of the heater, you couldn’t quite banish the cold from your skin. It seemed to have hooked its claws in your bones, unwilling to relinquish its hold. 

“I know these won’t fit, but it’s all I have here at the moment.” 

You turned to face Red Hood and froze in place. The helmet was gone. In its place was a domino mask. His hair was tousled, still wet, a towel draped over his shoulders. He’d changed out of his body armor and into a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants. You stared at him, wide-eyed and shivering. A wicked smile curved up one corner of his lips. Under his arm was a towel and a bundle of clothing, which he tossed your way. 

“Promise I won’t look. Just need to check in with a few people real quick.” He walked past you to his computer set up, turning the chair so that his back was to you. 

You couldn’t stop staring. Why couldn’t you stop staring? There was that little tug at your memory again. Something about the breadth of his shoulders seemed so achingly familiar, but you still struggled to figure out what it was. Tearing your gaze away from him, you reached for the clothes. He’d brought boxers, sweatpants, and a flannel button up for you. You turned away from him and adjusted the blanket before sliding the boxers on first. The sweatpants were easy to pull up as well, but once you had the flannel mostly on, you realized that your fingers were shaking too badly to button it. A hot flush rose to your cheeks. You fiddled with the sleeves for a moment before finally working up the courage to speak.

“Um… could you help me?”

The Red Hood’s shoulders immediately tensed. He’d been typing loudly the entire time you were changing, trying to drown out the sound of fabric rustling. He huffed out a strained laugh, turning around in the chair to face you. Whatever snarky comment he’d been prepared to deliver died on his lips. When his eyes landed on you, the world ground to a halt. 

Although you couldn’t see his eyes, you could see everything else. His fingers tightened on the arm rests of his chair, knuckles white. His jaw clenched, a muscle in it jumping. His gaze on you was heavy, kindling a flush to your skin. You pulled the front of the shirt closer around you, cutting your gaze back down to your feet. The vigilante took a deep breath, the sound amplified in the sudden silence. Peeking up from under your eyelashes, you watched him let the breath out in a long sigh before finally standing up. Each step towards you was careful, calculated. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. You felt breathless, the air knocked out of you with each step he took closer. “My fingers are shaking and numb and I… I can’t button it up.”

“Don’t apologize.” Red Hood knelt down in front of you, watching your expression. You wondered what he saw there, if it was all nerves and fear or something else that coiled hot and low in your belly. 

Slowly, he reached forward and fastened the button at the bottom of the shirt. You watched his hands, his movements gentle and slow. He let out a shaking breath when he reached the buttons at your chest. Just a brush of his skin against yours had you squeezing your eyes shut, willing your pulse to slow down. You barely knew the man, but the moment held an intimacy to it that felt forged from something much more than a couple of meetings. Leaving two buttons undone, Red Hood skimmed a thumb over your collarbone. You opened your eyes, breath catching at the raw longing present on his face. He swallowed thickly, and you watched his adam’s apple bob, suddenly riveted by the thick column of his neck and the pulse racing visibly under his skin.

“There,” he said. His voice was deep, rough, gravelly and rumbling. There was a strain to it, like he was holding back. Pulling away, he stood back up and draped the blanket back over your shoulders. “Try to get warm.”

You just nodded, watching him walk stiffly back to the computer. He was tense, shoulders hunched as he continued to work. Maybe you should have just left the shirt unbuttoned, simply clutched the blanket tighter around yourself. But you suspected it would have fallen open at some point if you’d done that and created a much tenser situation. Pulling the thick wool blanket tighter, you stared out the glass panes in front of you. The sun was setting, soft oranges and pinks reflected in the bay. The usual noise of the city was gone out here, replaced with the soft sound of the water. Closing your eyes, you tried to focus on the peaceful silence instead of the deep ache that had spread through your body. The cold was still there, only aggravating the creaking of your joints. Your bad hip was the worst of it, and you wondered if you’d be limping for a while.

“Did I hurt anyone?” Your voice was weak, soft and reedy. Your throat felt raw from screaming. 

Red Hood paused in his work. At first, he didn’t answer you. He finished up whatever he was doing first, and you finally heard the chair creak as he turned around. “Do you know what happened?”

“I don’t remember any of it.” Keeping your eyes shut, you let another violent shiver run through you. “But I’ve had episodes before.”

“I see.” You didn’t dare open your eyes. Did he hate you now? Did he view you as a threat, a hostile to be eliminated? Was all of this just a trick to lower your defenses before he killed you? He sighed again, voice weary. “One person was knocked unconscious, but no one was really injured.”

The sob escaped before you could stop it. Tears spilled down your cheeks without warning and you buried your face in your hands. You were so relieved. Thank god none of them had been hurt. If they had… If they had, you wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself. 

“I think we should walk through what caused this.” Footsteps approached, and you felt his weight sink onto the futon next to you. Still, you kept your eyes closed. “Do you have an idea what may have caused an episode?”

“One of my prescriptions,” you whimpered. “It was out of stock in my neighborhood. I couldn’t find a place to pick it up. Today was my first day skipping a dose. I took everything else, but I’ve never had issues when I skipped dosages before.”

“When you’ve skipped in the past, was it just one, or all of the prescriptions?” 

“All of them.” You sniffled, wiping at your eyes with a sleeve. “This was my fault. I thought it would be fine as long as I took the rest. But I didn’t want… I didn’t want something like this to happen.”

“Maybe it was your fault.” Ouch. Those words made you flinch, further wounding your already bruised self-esteem. “Maybe it wasn’t. What prescription was it?”

“Risperidone.” 

“Huh.” His weight shifted, and you cracked one eye open to find him staring out at the bay. “Why are you on an anti-psychotic for schizophrenia and manic disorders?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, closing your eyes again. “My accident was a long time ago, and a lot of my memories from that time are pretty hazy. I think one of the doctors said it inhibits some chemical reaction in my brain.”

Red Hood grunted. You shivered again, wishing desperately to get some of that heat to seep into your aching joints. Your eyes shot open when you felt something drape over your head. When you looked up, you realized it was the other towel he’d brought. 

“For now, let’s get your hair dry. I can’t believe you’re still shivering.” He reached forward and tilted your head down. Your pulse stuttered again as he gently began to towel-dry your hair. With the towel obscuring your vision, you couldn’t see him. After a few minutes, he finally let the towel drape over your neck. While your hair was still damp, it wasn’t nearly as wet as it had been a moment before.

“Thank you,” you breathed. Your tears were drying on your skin, and you rubbed at them again. Steeling yourself, you asked the question you’d been mulling over in your head. “Why didn’t you just leave me in the water to drown?”

He looked horrified by your question. Guilt twisted in your gut, and you fought back a wave of nausea. 

“Why would you ask that?” Anger laced his voice, brows furrowed. 

“I hurt people,” you whispered. “Not just today. I had a bad episode a few years ago in Metropolis. At school. A lot of people were hurt. Some of them even died. I’m supposed to stay on top of my medications so things like this don’t happen, and I failed. If this happens again, more people could get hurt.”

“Did you hurt them on purpose?”

“What?” You stared at him, confused. “No. Back… back in Metropolis, I got scared. There was this criminal. He sprayed something in the air, I fainted. When I woke up, the building was totally destroyed. People were screaming. Superman came, but…” You shook your head. “He couldn’t save everyone. When he pulled me from the rubble I wished he hadn’t bothered. He was so worried, I couldn’t tell him what had happened. So I said the criminal did it. He went to jail because of something I did, and I don’t—”

“Shut up.” 

You obeyed, more out of shock than anything else. Red Hood leaned toward you, voice low. 

“You lost control, so you did something about it. You tried to fix it. Whoever that asshole was back in Metropolis? He was a bad person anyways. Who says he hadn’t been planning on killing everyone in there?” His hand shot out and gripped your shoulder, near bruising. There was a desperation in his voice. “You can’t keep carrying that guilt. You aren’t a bad person.”

“You don’t know me.” You tried to shrug off his hand, but he only slid his grip down to your bicep. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I…” Red Hood looked conflicted, torn apart. His head dropped forward, fingertips ghosting down to your hand. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I know you better than you think. But I’ve gunned down a lot of bad people. I know the way they look, the way they think. Evil infects the mind and you can see it in a person’s eyes. There isn’t a bad bone in your body. I can see that, clear as day.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” You watched his fingers curl around your wrist, resting against your fluttering pulse. 

“I pulled you out of the water because I don’t kill good people. I only threw you in there to try to wake you up from whatever trance you’d put yourself in.” His thumb traced a light circle against your skin. 

There was so much to unpack. Somehow someone had gotten in touch with Red Hood, told him there was a meta going nuts, that meta just so happened to be you, he got to Wayne Manor, trussed you up in a fire blanket (of all things), threw you into Gotham Bay, and the fished you back out. Your headache intensified, and you closed your eyes with a groan. 

“You’re still shivering.” Pulling his hand back, he shook his head. “Shit, I fucked up.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but he held a hand up to stop you. Without another word, he stood up and retrieved another blanket from the armchair. He sat down next to you and yanked you back against him. You yelped, squirming as he draped the second blanket around both of you. A strong arm wrapped around your middle and maneuvered you until he was laid back against one arm rest, your back flush to his chest as you rested between his legs. When you tried to struggle again, he groaned and wrapped both arms around you to keep you in place.

“Just relax,” he said. His lips brushed against your ear and you shivered at the feeling. “The shared body heat will warm you up faster. And if you lock yourself up like that, your joints are only going to hurt worse later on.”

There had to be some kind of ulterior motive. But he had a point. His body was warm and firm, radiating a heat that yours didn’t. Instinct drove you to curl further into him, and you forced yourself to relax. Your head rested against his shoulder, your arms curled tightly around yourself. Red Hood nudged at them and you relented, letting him drape one arm around your middle while he cushioned his head with the other. You could feel his heartbeat against your back, strong and steady while your own raced. Instead of the usual scent of leather and gunpowder, you caught a whiff of soap and aftershave. 

“You know,” you murmured, “being all soft like this really puts a dent in your reputation as a ruthless vigilante hellbent on revenge.”

His laugh rumbled through his chest, his head resting against yours for a moment before he let it roll back on his neck. “I have layers. Like an onion. Hard and rotten and gross outside, slightly soft in the middle.”

It was your turn to laugh then, letting your eyes drift closed. “That’s disgusting.”

“Maybe I’m disgusting,” he shot back.

“Mm, maybe. Or maybe you’re just a huge softie when you’re not busy terrorizing criminals.” You melted into him, letting exhaustion take over. 

“Looks like you’ve finally got me figured out, sweetheart.” Oh, the knots he twisted into your stomach when his voice went so soft. “Knew you’d get there eventually.”

“I still can’t figure out who you are,” you mumbled. His fingers twitched against you, but you were too tired to acknowledge it. “It’s like the answer is just out of reach, and I just can’t get to it. It’s driving me crazy. I know it, but it just keeps slipping away.”

He didn’t say anything in response to that. Instead, he shifted so that you were sitting more comfortably, face pressed into his neck. You sighed, curling into him. His other arm came out from behind his head, slipping under the blankets. When his thumb brushed against the side of your knee, it all came crashing down. All the pieces slipped into place.

The way he laughed, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the way he showed uncharacteristic kindness, the familiarity with which he spoke to you and touched you. All of it came down to that one simple gesture, the one that had lit a fire in you nearly a month prior. Heart pounding, you turned to face him. He watched you expectantly, like he knew what would happen. Like he’d done it on purpose. You braced your hands on his chest, the blankets slipping from your shoulders as you mapped out what you could see of his face. 

There was the faded scar on his chin, the larger one that ran above his right eyebrow. The sharpness of his jaw, a hint of his high cheekbones under the mask. The pale streak in his black hair. Your shaking fingers brushed against the edge of the domino mask, pausing to gauge his reaction. When he didn’t move to stop you, you ran your fingers under the right edge and removed it. Green eyes met yours, clouded by uncertainty and a fear you’d never seen before. 

“Jason?” You could hardly breathe. 

Reaching up, he twined his fingers with yours and offered a nervous smile. “Hi.”

Words failed you. Your mind was racing, trying to make sense of this new truth in your life. Jason Todd was the Red Hood. He was a vicious killer, a brutal vigilante. He worked with Batman, Robin, Nightwing, Batgirl, all of the various Bats who policed the streets. It made sense, now that you thought about it. The nights he had been missing from the manor and Red Hood had been active in the streets. The bruises and scrapes he waved away as being from “bar fights”. 

“I can hear you thinking,” he said. His grip tightened briefly, and he brought your hands to his chest again. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Does your family know?” It was the first question that came to mind.

“They do.”

“And do they know about me?”

Silence. Jason’s face fell, all the nerves and fear and guilt on display. “They do. I’m sorry. I thought they should know, just in case.”

“It’s okay.” You sighed, shifting to sit back on your knees. Jason let your hands slip from his. “I understand. I mean, I did just destroy Wayne Manor.”

“You didn’t destroy all of it,” he pointed out. He was sitting up as well, both blankets pooling around your waists. “Just one part. And trust me, whatever was broken can be replaced.”

Guilt bubbled up again, and you wrapped your arms around yourself. Without his warmth at your back, the chill was settling in once more. “I don’t know if I can go back there again.”

“You don’t have to worry about that tonight.” Jason pulled one of the blankets back up around your shoulders, tucking it tightly around you. “That can be a problem for future you.”

“What are you going to do now?” You shifted close to him again, catching his gaze.

“Well,” he said, “right now I’m going to make sure that you keep warm.”

“You know what I mean.”

Jason sighed, falling back against the arm rest. His legs shifted up, one of his knees resting against you. Folding his arms behind his head, he let his eyes slip closed. 

“I’m not sure,” he finally admitted. “There aren’t many people who know about my… night shift. And I think that helping you take back some control over your powers needs to be a priority. You could probably help me out, but that’s going to be your decision to make. Not mine.”

“I think that I have a lot of things to think about,” you said. “Not tonight.”

“No,” he said, “not tonight.”

Swallowing your nerves, you laid back down against him, head pillowed against his chest. Jason just wrapped an arm around you as if he’d done the same thing a million things before. The second blanket was wrapped around you as well, warmth cocooning you. Eyelids heavy, your voice was slurred when you spoke.

“I trust you, Jason Todd.”

You fell asleep with his arms around you, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know jason's been very soft and squishy so far but i promise y'all i have a Jason Todd Beatdown (TM) planned for this fic. also, shit's going to get very very real after this!! buckle the fuck up.
> 
> if you've read this far, thank you!! kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a mission is given and doubts rise to the surface
> 
> _"if i change and i start to fade  
>  and all the green in my eyes desaturate  
> it's my head, not my heart that's strayed  
> i'm sorry i keep pushing you away"_

When morning came, you woke to muted sunlight filtering through the windows and the worst headache you’d ever had. You were alone on the futon, a pillow under your head and both blankets tucked around you. The chill you’d felt before was banished, replaced by a cold sweat and a sickly heat that could only be a fever. Groaning, you slowly pushed yourself up onto your elbows. Your hip hurt bad enough that you knew your old wound would be giving you trouble for a while. Rubbing at your eyes, you startled at the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Good to see you’re finally up.” Jason grinned as he approached the futon, holding up a plastic bag and a carrier with two cups. “I come bearing gifts.”

“I need to go,” you said, trying to push yourself up to your feet. “I need to take my medicine, and the cat—”

“Already taken care of,” he replied. Setting his parcels down, he pulled up his computer chair and sat down across from you. “Your prescriptions are in the bag along with a couple of breakfast burritos. I stopped by your place and fed the cat. He was pretty freaked out.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Of course you’re two steps ahead of me.”

“Closer to three, but we can be nice and go with that.” Smirking when you leveled a glare at him, he emptied out the bag on the beaten-up end table next to him. “Eat, take your pills, have some coffee.”

Taking the offered cup from him, you picked up a burrito but hesitated before picking up one of the pill bottles. Jason picked up on your nerves, leaning forward.

“You don’t have to take your pills anymore, if you don’t want to.” Your surprise only made his grin grow. “With a little training, I think you could learn to take control over your powers. But it’s up to you.”

For nearly 10 years, you had been taking drugs to keep whatever it was inside of you repressed. You had believed it was the best choice, ignoring what you were and pretending to be normal. But where had that gotten you? Buried under rubble with a shattered hip and a collapsed lung years ago, feverish and guilt-ridden the previous day. Where were you supposed to draw the line? The pills had kept you quiet for so long. But if one of them suddenly became unavailable again…

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” You put the bottle down, picking at the foil around the burrito. “The doctors told me I was dangerous. What if I lose control again?”

“We can come up with a contingency plan for that.” Jason bit into his own breakfast, speaking through a mouth full of food. “I’ve got a guy who’s really good at that.”

“But my job…” The students were important. Not just your job, but the kids who you saw every day. Some of them would never be receptive to what you were teaching them, what you were trying to find in them. But the few that blossomed under your watch? They were worth it. “The next term starts in a month. I can’t risk putting people in danger if my powers can’t be controlled.”

“If that’s the case, you can just start taking your pills again.” He shrugged.

“I can’t just… cut them cold turkey and then start all of them at once again.” Your stomach churned at the thought, and you set aside the food in favor of coffee. “Some of the pills I take… I could be sick for weeks.”

“You don’t have to make a decision today. That’s not what I’m trying to do, I promise. But I’m here to support you, whatever you choose.” Something passed over Jason’s face for just a moment. His teeth caught his lip, fingers twitched. But then he was back to eating like nothing had happened.

“You mentioned that I could help you.” Taking a sip of your coffee, you had to pause for a second. He’d gotten your usual order perfect. Maybe he’d gotten in touch with Dick to find out how you took your coffee. Oh god, Dick. Was he okay? Did he hate you? Had you hurt him? Shaking your head, you shoved that train of thought to the back of your mind. You could worry about that later. “What would that mean?”

“Hmm.” Jason slumped backward into his chair, spinning it in a circle once before answering. “Well, I’ve got a case that Nightwing and I are working with a couple of his friends. You’d just help me pick up a few leads that have gone cold. All work from a distance, nothing in the field.”

That didn’t sound too bad. No direct involvement, just background work. Shifting to take some weight off your hip, you took another sip of coffee.

“I want to help.” You met Jason’s gaze, tried to look calm.

“Are you sure?” You knew what the look in his eyes was. It was calculating. Your heart sank. Had he done all of this just to use you? Had he gotten so close, been so kind just to get you to agree to help? A chain reaction of doubt swept through you. All that tenderness, and maybe it was just a ruse. You shoved those thoughts aside as well. You couldn’t let him see your suspicion.

“I’m sure. I want to help. I want my powers to do something good for once.” You set down your coffee, leaned towards him. “Let me help you, Jason.”

Jason just watched you for a long moment. Reading your expression, most likely. Maybe he was trying to find some hesitation, some sign that you weren’t ready for it, after all. But he didn’t seem to find it, shoulders sagging with a heavy sigh.

“Okay. Okay, you can help. But eat something first, please? You need your strength.”

You nodded, ignoring a wave of nausea as you bit into the breakfast burrito. Before you knew it you’d devoured it, the empty pangs in your gut soothed. No second wave of vomiting came, and you finished off your coffee. Jason had kept a watchful eye the whole time, eating his breakfast at a slower pace. When he had finished, he stood up and motioned for you to do the same.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on Black Mask for a few years now. His organization mostly just deals in drugs and illegal arms. But for the past few months, he’s been stepping up to something else.” He paused, glancing back at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just—” You winced as you stood, the weight on your bad hip too much. You made a mental note to look into getting your old pain medication re-prescribed. “Just an old injury.”

Without a word, Jason came over and wrapped an arm around your waist, guiding your arm around his shoulder. With him guiding your weight onto him instead of your bad leg, he led you over to his computer set up to sit in the other chair there. He retrieved his own chair before sitting down and firing up the system.

“A couple days after the new activity, Nightwing and I realized that our cases were crossing over. He and a team he assembled have been tracking meta-human trafficking.” Jason pulled up a folder, dozens of images flooding the screen. “They’d stayed out of Gotham for the most part, mostly centering their operations overseas. But after a Justice League team destroyed one of their operation centers in Markovia, activity here in Gotham spiked. There’s a few players we think are involved. Black Mask,” he pointed to a picture of a man with a grotesque mask that looked to be fused to his skull, “the Penguin,” now he pointed to a squat man who you’d seen in the news before, “and Carmine Falcone.” The last man he pointed to had three deep scars on his face. “All of them are major players in Gotham. My guess is they’re getting involved in order to all make a big play to control the city.”

You looked over the pictures he’d pulled up. Some were of warehouses gutted by fire, others of bodies whose faces had been obscured. “The meta-humans they’re trafficking, where do they come from?”

“All over,” he said. “But over the past month there’s been a surge in children being abducted in Gotham. Nightwing thinks someone is taking them, activating their meta-gene, and then selling them.”

A chill ran down your spine. You’d seen stories of the missing stories on the news, but you hadn’t thought much of it past hoping the kids at the Academy were safe. “Do you know who’s taking them?”

“No, we don’t.” Jason sighed, rubbing his temples. “The trail runs cold every time. We’ve been stepping up our raids, but they’ve managed to keep a step ahead of us. Nightwing’s worried about the kids, I’m worried about the big play someone’s going to make with a brand-new army of superpowered, brainwashed kids.”

“Have you saved any of the children?” Your eyes tracked to one of the bodies.

“We have. Most of them were alive, unscathed minus the whole abduction thing. Some we didn’t get there fast enough to save.” Turning to face you, he folded his arms over his chest. “I’d like you to try making something like that painting you did before. If you can find the right clue from the past, it could help us find some of the kids. Maybe even some of the buyers.”

The painting. Your eyes widened. “Wait. That painting I made. When you showed up at my apartment as Red Hood, you told me it was from your past.”

Jason stiffened. His face turned cold. You knew you’d stepped over a line. Before you could apologize, he held up a hand. “Don’t.”

Trying not to flinch at the sharp tone he’d taken with you, you looked at the screen again and tried to memorize the bodies and locations there. If you could help, then maybe… You thought of the previous night, of the way he’d held you, the longing on his face when he’d helped you dress. No. No, that wasn’t right. You shook those thoughts away. You trusted Jason Todd to keep you safe, but you didn’t trust that you weren’t reading feelings into his actions that weren’t there.

That meant that you had to put up your own walls, too. Shutting off the voice that begged you to just take his hand and ask him what was wrong, you laced your fingers together and shut your eyes. Deep breaths, like you had been taught years ago. When you opened your eyes again, you’d schooled your face into careful neutrality.

“Right. I’m sorry that I’ve taken up so much of your time.” Ignoring the screaming pain in your hip, you stood up and tugged up the borrowed sweatpants you wore. You’d meant to roll up the cuffs like you had the sleeves of the flannel, but hadn’t gotten around to it. “Thank you for getting me breakfast and taking care of my cat.”

When you glanced back at Jason, your heart sank. He looked confused at your sudden shift in attitude. As if he hadn’t just done the same thing to you. Swallowing down a swell of anger, you took another deep breath. If you felt too much right now, without your medications, you didn’t trust that you wouldn’t have another blow up. The words you’d spoken the previous night echoed in your head.

_I trust you, Jason Todd._

“Could you take me home? I’d like to shower. And I can’t help you if I don’t have my canvas and paints.” You forced a smile.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jason stood and moved towards you. When you took a step back, he stopped. “You…”

So cold just moments before, warm just moments later. Dick had told you stories of Jason’s wavering moods. Was he worried because he cared about you as a person, or was he worried because you could break a case for him? You didn’t know. You knew which answer you wanted. But the way he’d shut you off hurt. You’d admitted horrendous things to him the night before, confessed to hurting people. It was the darkest part of you, and you’d ripped yourself open to show it to him. But he didn’t trust you enough to do the same.

“I’m fine,” you lied. “I’m just tired and I miss my cat. Please, Jason. Just take me home. The sooner I get there, the sooner I can help you out.”

“Okay.” Jason Todd did not look convinced. In fact, he looked even more confused than before.

Turning your back to him, you limped over to the futon to gather up your prescriptions. The clothes you’d worn the night before had been folded carefully. Brushing off the fact that Jason had probably _seen and touched your underwear_ , you shoved them in the bag as well. You could breach the topic of what he had and had not seen and/or touched later. A warm hand rested on your back, and you looked up to see Jason holding up a pair of boots with a sheepish smile.

“They’re pretty big, but I figure it’s better than being barefoot. I’ll let you wear my jacket too.”

“Thanks,” you said. You slipped on the boots, immediately blanching at just how big they were. “Jesus, your feet are huge.”

“You know what they say,” he laughed. When your face turned a nuclear shade of red, his laugh only got louder.

Tamping down on your embarrassment, you laced them up and stood to glare up at him. It was truly unfair how tall he was. “Just take me home, Jason.”

“Okay, okay. Here.” Approaching you, Jason paused for a moment to make sure you didn’t flinch away before holding up his jacket. With him helping, you slipped your arms in and zipped it up to your chin. “Alright, princess. Let’s get you home.”

The nickname made you uneasy. But, once again, you did not protest it. Jason helped you down the stairs, arm warm and secure around your waist. You tried very hard not to notice the way his muscles flexed when you leaned a little more into him. You tried not to focus on the fact that his jacket smelled exactly like him. Instead, you focused on the pain in your hip and your head. You grounded yourself, suppressing the fizzing under your skin. Once you made it outside, Jason handed you the helmet on the back of his bike.

“Aren’t you going to wear a helmet?” you asked, wary.

“Nah,” he said, “I really only ride with the one helmet. It’s probably best if people don’t see you with that guy.”

“Oh.” Duh. “Right.”

Mounting the motorcycle, Jason turned the ignition and you flinched when the engine roared to life. It was so loud… When you didn’t immediately climb on after him, he glanced back at you. “It’s okay,” he yelled over the sound of the engine. “Enough room for two people to sit. Come on!”

Swallowing your nerves, you put on the helmet and climbed on behind Jason. Unsure of where to put your hands, you gripped the back of the seat. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Hold on tight,” he yelled. Before you could respond, he had thrown up the kickstand and gunned it.

A scream ripped from you and your arms wrapped around Jason’s middle. You squeezed, holding on as tightly as you could. The wind whipped around you, the chill biting against the exposed skin of your hands. Jason laughed, the sound rolling through you. The wind tousled his already messy hair, his eyes wide and exhilarated. Squeezing your eyes shut, you focused on the sound of his racing heart and rumbling laughter. The bubbling had started again, turning your blood effervescent. When Jason whooped and took a sharp turn, you focused on the warmth radiating from him to calm down. The last thing you wanted was to lose control on the back of a speeding motorcycle.

After several near panic attacks and far too many minutes of focusing on both his and your own breathing to keep from exploding, Jason finally pulled up in front of your building. Unlocking your arms from around him, you stepped off the bike and pulled off the helmet. Jason stared at you, his cheeks flushed from the cold and hair a wild mess.

He’d never looked more devastating.

Maybe it was the way he looked at you that made you ask the question. Maybe it was the way your heart was racing still, high on adrenaline. Maybe it was the honest part of you that new your reactions to him couldn’t be so easily written off much longer.

“Do you trust me?”

For a breathless moment, you watched him. The question had taken him by surprise. His eyes still seemed so bright, catching even in the cloudy light. But even with his bright eyes and devilish smile he couldn’t seem to find an answer to you. You caught your lip between your teeth, blinking rapidly. Shoving the helmet in his hands, you managed a watery, pained smile.

“Forget I asked. Thank you again, Jason. I’ll get to work.” Proud of how even your voice was, you stepped back. “Try to get home in one piece, okay? And tell everyone I’m sorry.”

You couldn’t wait there any longer. Turning on your heel, you limped away from him as fast as you could, head ducked. When you opened the door to the building, you paused for just a second. You didn’t look back. The door swung behind you and shut with a click that seemed deafening.

You made it to the elevator before the tears finally came, and you crumpled to the floor. The elevator clunked its way up to your floor as you sobbed, face buried in your hands. What was wrong with you? You should have known better. The question was stupid, and you’d known the answer. Jason wasn’t just Jason; he was the Red Hood. He was a vigilante, hip deep in violence and death. Had you really thought you’d earned his trust by crying a few times and agreeing to help him? He’d only revealed his other identity to you out of necessity, hadn’t he? You’d assumed too much and crossed an invisible line.

“Stupid,” you muttered to yourself. “So stupid.”

The elevator dinged, doors creaking open to signify you’d arrived. Picking yourself up off the floor, you made your slow way to your apartment. It wasn’t until you made it to the door that you realized your purse was still at Wayne Manor. With your keys. And your cell phone. Choking back a fresh batch of frustrated tears, you took a deep breath and tried the door. It opened.

Unease rolled through you immediately. Surely Jason wouldn’t have just left the door unlocked. Had someone else broken in? You stepped in on high alert, peeking around the living room before you moved any further. Ragdoll trotted up to you, chirping happily. The knot in your chest loosened slightly. A shape on the kitchen counter caught your eye. You flicked on the lights, immediately recognizing your purse. A sticky note had been slapped on the counter next to it.

_“Sorry for leaving the door unlocked. Call me if there’s a burglar. Picked this up for you.”_

Underneath the note was a number. Jason’s number.

Groaning, you ripped the note off the counter and hesitated before putting it on the fridge instead. With the cat purring and rubbing up against your legs, you checked the hall and your bedroom and bathroom just to be sure. No sign of any other intruder. Finally relaxing, you retrieved your phone and hesitated for a moment before shooting off a text to the number Jason had left.

_Just lock the door behind you next time. The landlord doesn’t charge for lockouts._

With the battery on your phone near dead, you turned it off and plugged it in to charge. Locking the door (and cursing Jason again for the scare he’d given you), you powered through the building ache in your hip as you prepared the living room for painting. Tarps were laid out, Ragdoll obediently retreated to the kitchen, and you laid out your supplies. Instead of just one, you decided to set up two canvases. Settling down on the floor and closing your eyes, you let your power surge.

It was time to earn Jason’s trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jason: likes a girl, listens to her spill her guts and is soft and supportive, gets her a breakfast burrito and coffee the next morning  
> also jason: refuses to talk about The Thing That Was Painted, bad with Emotions, can't spit it out
> 
> oh jason, honey, you're so bad with feelings. real talk, i re-wrote parts of this two or three times because i wasn't sure if i wanted to go the Good Times route or the Bumpy As Shit route that i felt was more true to jason's character. bc let's be real, the boy is very bad at opening up to people and doesn't know how to just. y'know. tell them how he feels. so pls don't be mad, i promise things will get better... eventually. also can you see how hard i'm projecting with Miss Reader's severe trust issues
> 
> tldr for this chapter: feelings are hard and 2 dumbasses are bad at Talking Things Out and make assumptions instead
> 
> if you've read this far, thank you so much!! comments and kudos are always appreciated


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> christmas, part one. a gift is given and humiliation is dealt
> 
> _"oh my blood  
>  once was my own  
> but in one touch  
> you made it yours"_

“Why are you like this?” Dick groaned.

Jason bit back the insult on the tip of his tongue, grimacing instead. Going to Grayson for advice had been his first and worst mistake. He’d swung by Dick’s apartment after dropping off the girl, a thousand things on his mind.

“Seriously, you’re just the worst sometimes,” Dick continued. “You didn’t think to maybe tell her that you _fucking died_?”

“It’s kind of a sensitive subject for me,” Jason snapped back. His temper was frayed, but he knew he didn’t have anyone to blame but himself. “Forgive me if I don’t just spill my guts at the first opportunity.”

“She spilled her guts,” Dick countered. “And you then immediately turned around and told me all about it without considering she might not be comfortable with that.”

Shit. He had a point. Slumping further in his chair, Jason swirled the remaining beer at the bottom of his can. Grayson had a point, and Jason fucking hated it.

“Did it change your opinion about her?” he bit out.

“No,” Dick admitted. “But my point still stands, dude. She trusted you with some heavy stuff.”

“Are you going to help me out here, or are you just going to keep bitching at me?” Jason growled.

Dick shot him the Patented Dick Grayson Disappointed Dad Look. “Not if you keep getting angry at me.”

Throwing a hand up, Jason chugged the last of his beer and smashed the can under his boot.

“Better.” Dick got up to get another beer for him, still talking. “Do you trust her? I mean, there’s gotta be something there if you unmasked yourself in front of her. Which, for the record, I think is a dumb fucking idea.”

“Noted,” Jason drawled. “And I mean… I guess I do? She hasn’t really given me any reason not to trust her.”

“Okay, then there’s your answer.” Dick tossed the new can to Jason, who caught it and popped it open immediately. “You trust her. Meet up with her and apologize, then tell her about what happened to you. If she can take the fact that you’re a vigilante who kills people, she can take the fact that you died once. I mean, she died once. See, it’s just a thing that you have in common.”

“You talk too much when you’re drunk.” Not that Jason had any room to judge. He just got angrier when he was drunk. Crueler, colder. All of his worst qualities out in the open for everyone to see and judge.

“Also,” Dick said, “what the fuck made you think that it would be okay to bring her in on working on this meta-human trafficking case? In case you didn’t notice, she’s a meta-human.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Sarcasm noted and ignored.” Throwing himself face down on the couch, Dick continued. “You could be putting her in serious danger. There are eyes and ears everywhere. If someone gets wind of her working with you…”

“If anyone tries to hurt her, I’ll kill them.” Simple as that. Jason didn’t want to dissect the various ways in which the thought riled him up more. “And it won’t reach the bad guys, okay? She can protect herself.”

Dick raised his head enough to glare at Jason. “She doesn’t even know how to control her powers, Jason.”

“So, about that.” Kicking his feet up, Jason chugged his beer before grinning at Dick. “I’m cashing in one of the favors you owe me.”

“Ugh.” Dick shoved a cushion over his face. “I’m too nice to you.”

“Seriously, Dick. You know people who could help her out, right? My people are on the other side of the world and don’t have powers even remotely like hers.”

“If I do this,” Dick said, voice muffled by the cushion, “it’s for her. Not for you.”

That was not jealousy that Jason was feeling. No, that vicious little twist in his gut was something he’d eaten. Maybe he just got the urge to punch Dick because he was being, well, a dick. Nothing to unpack there. The can was crumpling under his tightened grip, and he tossed it away.

“Fine. Just do it.”

“Oh, is that jealousy I hear—”

“Don’t.” Jason stood up, pointing at Dick. “Seriously, don’t. It isn’t fucking funny.”

Dick blinked at his brother, realization dawning on his face. It made Jason sick to his stomach. The last thing he needed was Dick fucking Grayson thinking that he had feelings for the art teacher. He was just a little bit fond of her, that was all. She was easy to tease. Her reactions were funny. She was useful.

_Her face twisted in hurt and betrayal. The soft look in her eyes had closed off, and she turned her back to him._

Grimacing, he shook his head. It meant nothing. All the girl was to him was an ally, a tool to be used to complete the mission.

_Liar._

“You know, Christmas is in a couple days,” Dick pointed out.

“And?” _Watch the temper._

“And you should get her something. Before you get mad at me,” Dick cut off Jason before he could snap at him, “I’m not saying this to make fun of you for anything you may or may not be thinking. I’m saying this because you’re gonna be working with her a lot for the immediate future. If you don’t want things to be tense, a gift is a good apology.”

Much as he hated to admit it, Dick once again had a good point. Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighed before he sat back down.

“I was thinking of inviting her over for Christmas,” Dick said. “Tim, Stephanie, Barbara, and Donna all said they’re coming. You should too. Bruce, Damian, and Alfred are gonna do their little thing, but I know you’ll spend the day alone otherwise.”

“Fine,” Jason groaned. “But I’m only going if she is.”

“I’ll take that, little brother.” Sitting back up, Dick gave Jason’s arm a friendly punch. “And don’t overthink things, okay? I know you get stuck in a feedback loop of negative shit.”

“Don’t push it, Grayson.”

\----

When Dick called you the next morning, you almost had a panic attack. Was he going to yell at you? Was he ending your friendship? Had he been the one that you knocked out? Maybe he was calling to tell you that he had reported you to the police and Bruce had fired you and also Damian hated you forever and—

“Hello?” Your voice squeaked when you answered.

“Hey!” Dick’s voice was bright as always, which only served to feed your anxiety. “How are you? Jason said he dropped you off yesterday and you weren’t feeling great.”

You winced. “Uh, yeah. I have an old injury to my hip that’s been acting up. I came down with a little fever, but it’s broken.”

“I’m just glad that you’re okay.” You heard a muffled voice in the background. “Oh, Barbara says hi. She was worried about you too.”

“How many people know about what happened that night?” The fear was all too present in your voice. “Am I fired?”

“What?” Dick laughed. You felt sick to your stomach. “No, you’re not fired. Check your email, Bruce sent you something. And I can hear you spiraling, so no, it’s not anything bad. Just a vacation. A paid one.”

“Oh.” You sagged back into your pillows. Ragdoll purred next to your head, batting at a strand of your hair.

“And as for your other question, just a couple of people. I told Babs because she hadn’t heard from you and was worried. Stephanie found out from Tim since he was a little banged up. She’s not mad, by the way.” Barbara’s voice came through in the background again and Dick cracked up. “Yeah, Babs said she freaked out about how cool you were when she found out. Then immediately worried about if you were okay or not. You should text her, let her know.”

“Um, I will.” Were you hallucinating? There was no way you had blown up a house and managed to not make anyone angry about it.

“I called you for a different reason, though.” And there Dick went again, making your stomach twist into knots. Your grip on the phone tightened.

“Uh huh?” you said, voice going up a couple octaves.

“I’m having a few people over for Christmas this year. If you don’t have any other plans, I’d love for you to come too. One of my friends from out of state is coming, and I think you two would get along.”

“Oh.” You blinked. Ragdoll patted at your cheek, and you gave him a scratch behind the ears. “Um… sure. I didn’t have any plans. Should I bring gifts? Food or drinks? Is this like an ugly sweater kind of party or—”

“Relax,” Dick said. “Don’t worry about anything. If you want to bring gifts, feel free. Me, Babs, Stephanie, Tim, my friend Donna, and Jason will be there. If you want to bring food or whatever, that would be appreciated but don’t feel like you have to. And no ugly sweaters. Tim really hates them.”

“Okay,” you said. “Okay, cool. Yeah, that sounds great. Thank you, Dick. What time should I show up?”

“Whenever is cool. I mean, don’t show up at like 7 am, obviously. But there’s no set start time.”

“Sounds good.”

“Donna is going to be so excited when she hears you’ll be here.” The excitement rang clear in Dick’s voice. “I’ll let you go. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Will do. Bye, Dick.”

Setting the phone back down on your nightstand, you pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes. Christmas was… oh god, Christmas was the next day. Shooting up out of bed, you stumbled and nearly fell at the twinge in your hip but kept moving. Christmas Eve shopping was a nightmare, but you’d have to brave it. Dick was kind enough to invite you over so you had to get him a gift. Tim deserved something as an apology for (probably) hurting him on accident. Barbara was so sweet you couldn’t not get her a gift, and you didn’t want to leave Stephanie out. You knew nothing about Donna, but a gift was a good first impression. And Jason… would it be weird to get him a gift? He hadn’t texted you back and you weren’t sure if you’d maybe crossed a line and made him angry.

An apology gift didn’t seem out of line. Which meant that you were shopping for six gifts, one for each person. You also wanted to bring something with you too, so you’d need to pick up a bottle of wine and ingredients to make… something. What would be good to bring? You wracked your brain for an idea before landing on the obvious answer. A few months back you’d brought carrot cake cupcakes to a potluck and the Academy and they’d been a hit.

So, that meant six gifts, a bottle of wine, and cupcake ingredients. You groaned, leaning against the doorway for a moment to gather yourself. If you were honest with yourself, you simply didn’t have the energy to do that much shopping. The previous day had been draining and you weren’t sure how well your hip would hold up.

“No,” you said out loud. “You can’t wuss out. You can do it.”

Nodding, you pushed yourself off the wall and made your way to the bathroom. With a cup of coffee and your next round of medication (including the pills you’d been missing, much to your surprise; you’d need to thank Jason for that at some point) you could do anything.

\----

Dick greeted you at the door on Christmas night with a crushing hug, lifting you off your feet and giving you a spin. Holding onto him, you allowed yourself to laugh. Setting you back down gently, Dick gave you a once-over.

“You look cute,” he said.

“Thanks.” Blushing, you pulled at the hem of your black cardigan. You’d worn it over a wine-red dress you’d found at the back of your closet. “I’m not too dressed up?”

“Not at all. The party needs to be classed up a little anyways. Let me help.” Before you could protest, Dick had picked up the bags of gifts and the wine, leaving you with just a tupperware full of your cupcakes. “Come in, a few other people are already here.”

Taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, you followed him inside. You’d never been to Dick’s apartment, but it was as large and spacious as you had expected. Following him into the kitchen, you set the cupcakes between a bag of chips and a bowl of dip. A huge array of food had been set up, from snack foods to sandwiches to deviled eggs and fancy looking pastries. Dick set down the chardonnay you’d brought with at least 8 other bottles of wine.

“Jason and Donna are in the living room. Tim and Stephanie should be here soon, Barbara’s gonna be here pretty late. She spends most of her Christmas with her father,” Dick explained. “Come on, let me introduce you to Donna.”

Already overwhelmed, you simply nodded. Feeling like you were floating, you trailed after Dick into his living room. An enormous tree had been set up along with string lights hanging over the balcony doors. Tinsel and holly were a plenty, and a few candles were burning. Still admiring the decorations, you startled when Dick placed a hand on your shoulder and spoke.

“This is my friend Donna Troy. Donna, this is Damian’s art teacher.”

The most beautiful woman you had ever seen approached with a smile. You were immediately star struck. Donna Troy extended a hand, which you took. Her dark blue blouse brought out her eyes. You managed to choke out your name. Her smile only grew, corners of her eyes wrinkling.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she said, voice throaty. “Dick’s told me all about you.”

“Only good things, I hope!” Your laugh was nervous, and you could feel a blush creeping back up on you.

“All good things, I promise.” Donna laughed and you swore it was like music. Letting go of your hand, she opted to reach down and skim her fingers over the bodice of your dress. “This is such a lovely dress. The color is so flattering on you.”

You managed to squeak out a “thank you”, fidgeting slightly. Still smiling, she turned her attention back to Dick. Letting out a small sigh of relief, you smoothed out your dress and limped a bit further into the room. You looked up and locked eyes with Jason Todd.

Once again, your traitorous body flushed. He wore a dark dress shirt and black slacks, boots replaced by dress shoes. His dark hair was slicked back, the white streak in it more prominent. If you’d thought he looked devastating before, you’d been mistaken. This, it turned out, was his most devastating look. Those green eyes took their time looking you over, your stomach doing flips when his gaze snagged on your thighs. The dress was a bit shorter than what you normally wore and showed much more skin.

“Hi,” you squeaked.

His adam’s apple bobbed before his eyes met yours again. He’d been reclined in a chair, but stood up to greet you.

“Hey,” he said.

“Um.” You cleared your throat, squirming as he took a step closer to you. “You… you look nice.”

“You look amazing.” Close enough to touch, he reached out and brushed your hair behind your ear. “You curled your hair.”

“Oh, yeah. Um. I wanted to look nice.” _What the fuck was wrong with you_? Were you forgetting how to hold a normal conversation? Was your brain shutting down?

“Well, you succeeded.” The corner of his mouth twitched up in a nervous smile and he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me, too. I mean, I’m also glad that I came. And that you came.” Crashing and burning, that was what you were doing. Maybe an assassin would pop out from behind the couch and put you out of your misery. “I’m sorry, I’m really nervous.”

“No, it’s okay!” Jason laughed, tilting his head closer to yours. “I’m a little nervous, actually.”

You gasped, feigning shock and pressing a hand over your mouth. “Jason Todd, nervous? I can’t believe it, there’s just no way.”

The smile finally reached his eyes, melting into that soft look that made you turn into goo. “It’s true. Never thought I’d see the day, either.”

“If you two are done flirting, I was going to offer to get you drinks.” Dick threw an arm over your shoulder, a devious smile on his face.

“We weren’t—”

“I wasn’t—”

The both of you spoke at the same time, flustered. You were pretty sure your face was about to catch on fire. Dick just laughed, ducking behind you when Jason took a threatening step his way.

“I’m just kidding!” he said. “But seriously, do either of you want a drink?”

“God, yes,” you groaned.

“I second that,” Jason said.

With a little salute, Dick motioned for Donna to follow him and they both went to the kitchen. Almost immediately, you felt incredibly nervous. You were alone in a room with Jason, but that wasn’t a big deal, right? He was just a friend. A friend who you’d spent an entire day making psychic paintings for. A friend who sometimes looked at you like he wanted to eat you alive. When he cleared his throat, you nearly jumped out of your skin. Pressing a hand to your chest, you laughed nervously as you tried to calm your rapid pulse.

“Sorry,” you said, “still a little nervous.”

“Well, don’t worry. I’m sure Dick’s pulling out the heavy hitters for you.” Jason smiled, but it was the small, uncertain one. The one that made you feel like you’d said or done the wrong thing.

“I’m not… it’s not that… God, what am I even trying to say?” You sighed, frustrated with yourself. “Jason, I’m sorry about the other day.”

“Huh?” He looked surprised.

“When I asked about… you know. I pried when I shouldn’t have, and I’m really sorry. And that other question, that was totally not cool.” The words were spilling past your lips, a verbal rush that you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop. “I just don’t want you to be mad at me or anything. You never texted me back and I just… You’re…”

“It’s okay.” Shaking his head, he hesitated for just a split second before resting a hand on your elbow. “I’m not angry about that. If anything, the way I reacted wasn’t cool. There’s things about me that I don’t like talking about. One day, I promise I’ll tell you. I just need to be ready.”

“Okay. That’s… that’s okay.” You nodded, although your stomach was only tying itself into further knots. “No rush, you know? I’m just glad you’re not upset.”

“God no,” Jason laughed. “You’d know if you pissed me off, princess.”

There was that nickname again. It sent a little shiver down your spine. _What the fuck?_ Before you could say anything further, Dick came back in with two drinks.

“Bourbon straight for Jason. My special hot cider for the pretty lady,” he said with a wink.

“Fuck off, Grayson,” Jason growled. “Be careful drinking that stuff. It’ll knock you on your ass,” he said to you.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You glanced between the two men, not entirely certain what was going on with the tension between the two of them.

There was a knock at the door. Small favors. Dick excused himself and went to answer it. You could hear Donna in the kitchen, in the process of getting something ready. You took a sip of your drink and immediately started coughing.

“Oh god,” you gasped, “what is in here?”

It was like drinking every strong alcohol you’d ever had all at once, with a teeny bit of spice and apple at the very end. You were pretty sure your eyes were watering.

“Yeah, no one knows what the hell is in that cider.” Tim walked into the living room, trailed by Stephanie and Dick. “Definitely be careful drinking that.”

The mug slipped from your fingers. Tim had been the one that you hurt. A bandage covered his left temple, his left eye bruised and swollen. Tears welled in your eyes, and you pressed your hands over your mouth.

“Oh god,” you whispered. “Oh Tim.”

Tim Drake, to his credit, did not immediately panic at the sight of a crying woman. Instead, he crossed the room in three large strides and pulled you into a tight hug. Dick was hovering, because that was what he did. Jason had gone silent behind you. Pressing your face into his shoulder, you sniffled and wrapped your arms around Tim in return.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Damian’s done worse to me. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Tim, let me hug her!” Stephanie rushed over, throwing her arms around the both of you. “Don’t cry. Seriously, Tim’s fine.”

“I hurt you,” you sobbed. Stephanie rubbed your back. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was actually pretty cool,” Tim said. You sniffled again, shaking your head. “Seriously, it was. And accidents happen. No worries.”

“Oh, did something happen?” Donna wandered in from the kitchen, concern in her voice.

“No, I’m fine.” Pulling out of the group hug, you dabbed at your eyes with your sleeve. “Just got kind of emotional.”

“Wow, you didn’t even smudge your make up.” Stephanie grinned, keeping an arm around you. “See, you’re really cool.”

“I don’t know if I follow that logic, but thank you.” You tried to smile but knew it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Here.” Jason nudged at your arm and held out the mug. “I managed to catch it in time.”

Stephanie gave you a knowing look and took Tim by the arm, ushering him into the kitchen to “help Donna out”. You weren’t sure what exactly she was making, but everyone suddenly seemed interested in it.

“Is it just me, or do people keep leaving us alone?” you asked.

“It’s not just you,” Jason said. He downed his drink and set the glass down. “They’re being weird.”

In response, you threw back your cider. Ignoring the way it burned, you chugged it all before coughing and wincing.

“I need another drink. You want one?” you asked.

“Please.” Jason looked a bit concerned, but didn’t say anything else.

Picking up his glass, you limped into the kitchen and frowned when the four people huddled together all went very silent. Slamming both glasses down on the counter, you glared at them.

“Why are you guys being weird?” you demanded.

“Because you guys clearly—” Stephanie began.

“No reason!” Tim interrupted. “Uh, no. None at all.”

Narrowing your eyes, you considered pushing them for answers but eventually decided against it. Turning to Dick, you pointed to Jason’s glass. “Where’s your bourbon?”

“Here, I’ll get it,” he offered. His hand brushed against your lower back as he took it. Weird.

“Okay…?” Frowning, you approached the pot of cider on the stove, ladling more into the mug. “Donna, what are you making?”

“Oh, I’m preparing the turkey!” She smiled, immediately falling back into charm. “The dressing was ready to take out. Dick has told me that no Christmas is complete without a turkey.”

“I’ve actually mostly had ham for Christmas.” Leaning against the stove, you watched as the other three fidgeted uncomfortably. _Super weird._ “My mom usually worked, but I’d make it and leave leftovers for her.”

“Is you mom working tonight?” Stephanie asked.

You stiffened, grip on the mug going white-knuckled. What a question to ask. To be fair, no one in the room knew what a minefield your relationship with your mother was except for Dick. He had flinched at the question. You glanced at his back before answering.

“My mom and I don’t talk,” you said evenly. “We stopped talking when I was emancipated at sixteen.”

“Oh.” Stephanie looked horrified. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine.” You waved her apology off, trying very hard to be casual. “You didn’t know.”

“Uh, here’s that drink for Jason.” Dick came over and handed it to you.

“Thanks.” Nodding, you turned and limped back out. Jason looked up when you came back in, rushing to his feet and crossing to take the drink from you.

“I didn’t notice you were still limping,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“A little sore,” you admitted. “Just need to sit for a bit.”

Taking you by the arm, Jason steered you to the enormous sectional couch. You both sat, drinking in awkward silence. He was the first to break it.

“So, uh. I got you something. A gift.” He shifted awkwardly.

“Oh! You didn’t have to.” You smiled. “I got you something too. I think it’s by the door, and—”

“Don’t get up,” he snapped. “I mean… shit.”

You stared at Jason, not sure what was going on. He’d been acting weird all night and was continuing to get weirder. Had someone dropped you off in an alternate dimension where you were, for the first time ever, the only not-awkward person there? Taking a deep breath, he ran a hand over his jaw and cursed under his breath.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna try this again. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Take 2.”

“Right.” Rubbing his hands against the front of his jeans, he looked everywhere but directly at you. “So… yeah. I got you a gift.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Watching him closely, you could have sworn his hands were shaking. “I also got a gift, which I am not going to get up and get you right now.”

“Right.” A nervous laugh. “Right, yeah. Thanks. I just have it… uh, here.”

Reaching into the front pocket of his jeans, Jason pulled out a little wrapped gift. The wrapping was beyond sloppy, but still charmingly ugly. Stifling a laugh, you bit your lip and held out your hand. Jason placed it in your hand, his fingers brushing against your palm. Suppressing a shiver at the feeling, you carefully unwrapped the little gift. When you saw what it was, you froze.

“I saw it the other day,” Jason explained, “and I just… I thought of you. It’s not anything special, I know, but—”

“Jason.” You cut him off, biting back a smile. “I love it.”

A silver charm bracelet lay in your hand. There was only one charm on it at the moment, most of it just thin, delicate links waiting for a charm to be added. A little silver paint brush charm rested against your pinky. It was perfect. Your heart stuttered at the thought of him seeing it in a store window and thinking of you. The sentiment was… well, it was extremely endearing. You clasped the bracelet around your wrist, holding it up so light from the tree glinted off the charm.

“This is sweet of you,” you said. “It’s a wonderful gift. Thank you, Jason.”

Turning to smile at him, you paused again. The look on Jason’s face was… you weren’t sure what it was. Raw and open, exposed to the core in some way you couldn’t put your finger on. He’d set down his drink, hands clenched into fists on his lap. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, as if psyching himself up for something. When he opened his eyes again, you immediately recognized the look in them.

_Hunger._

Your heart skipped a beat. Wrist still raised, you watched as Jason reached for it. His movements were slow, deliberate. Fingers curling around your arm, Jason brought you closer to him. The space between you was suddenly bridged. Eyes on yours, he brought your wrist to his lips, brushing them over your pulse. Heat coiled low in your belly, echoing the hunger in his expression. You bit your lip, his eyes zeroing in on the movement. Breath catching in your chest, you watched his eyes darken, pupils dilating. With one tug on your arm, Jason pressed you to his chest. His fingers slipped up to the back of your neck, brushing against the ends of your hair. There was no space between you anymore. His breath fanned over your lips, his fingers carding through your hair. On instinct, you tilted your head back into his touch. A low groan rumbled in his chest, your hand pressed over his racing heart. Eyes drifting closed, you made a small noise at the back of your throat when his hand fisted in your hair. Jason’s nose brushed against yours, heart pounding as the distance suddenly became unbearable and—

Something shattered behind you. The noise also shattered the moment. The two of you jumped apart, your heart racing. Jason looked shocked, a hand pressed over his mouth. You were sure that your expression mirrored his.

_What the fuck had just happened?_

Whipping around, you saw someone duck around the corner and back into the kitchen. The horror came sure and swift, knocking the breath out of you. They had been watching. The world faded, narrowing to a single point. Focusing on your hands, you forced yourself to breathe again. Was this some kind of joke? Shame burned at the back of your throat and you pressed a hand over your mouth. How far would you have gone if something hadn’t broken? Someone was saying your name, but it was muddled and foggy. A hand pressed against your back and you jerked away.

“Don’t…” Your voice trembled, wavering and uncertain. “Don’t touch me.”

“Please.” Jason. It was Jason. You tasted bile. Had this been one of his cruel jokes? He said your name, voice breaking. “Hey, you okay?”

“Was this a joke?” you rasped.

“What? No, of course not. I… I don’t know what happened, I didn’t know anyone was watching—”

“I need to go.” Standing up, you staggered away from him. The room was swimming, and you only realized you were crying when you blinked and your vision cleared. “I… I have to—”

Dick was suddenly there, hands trying to be comforting on your shoulders. You shoved him, hard, watched with a vicious satisfaction when he fell back on his ass. His eyes were wide, shocked. You swallowed a lump in your throat.

“If you wanted to humiliate me,” you hissed, “then you succeeded.”

The color drained from Dick’s face. You didn’t know where the other three were. You didn’t care. Swiping at the tears rolling down your cheeks, you tried to gather yourself.

“Listen, it’s not like that—”

“Shut up!” You screamed. Jason’s jaw clicked shut in surprise. “Just shut up! You’ve succeeded in humiliating me, okay? I get the message.”

“Seriously, we weren’t—” Stephanie had appeared, trying to be soothing. You shied away from her. Like a kicked dog, you thought with no small amount of shame. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Your gifts are all in the bags by the door,” you bit out. “Let Barbara know why I left early.”

Grabbing your purse, you stormed out of the apartment. Silence followed in your wake until the door slammed with echoing finality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas in july i bring you 2 CHAPTERS!! and one that's just chock full of angst. the next one is very soft, i promise you. i wanted to upload them both at once just so there wasn't too much of a cliffhanger. 
> 
> also i promise promise promise the action will come soon. 
> 
> if you've read this far, thank you!! comments and kudos are always appreciated.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> christmas, part two. feelings are shared. 
> 
> chapter warnings: (very) mild sexual content
> 
> _change me at all costs  
>  starlight and star-crossed  
> take me so breathless  
> we could be so reckless_

Silence hung for a terrible moment in the apartment. Jason was the first to move. Shoving past Dick and Tim, he located the bag of gifts she had brought. Digging through them, he pulled his out. It was neatly wrapped, care put into it that had put his own shitty packaging to shame. Rage boiled up, his hands shaking. The others remained silent, dreading his reaction. He took a deep breath.

“I hope your burning curiosity was worth it,” he managed to say in an even voice. “Because if I can’t talk her down, I’m going to kill all of you.”

Without another word, he retrieved his coat from the rack by the door and raced outside. The gift was shoved into his jacket pocket as he ran. The cold night air bit at his cheeks, breath fogging as he tried to catch sight of her. There was a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, and he turned. She was crouched under a streetlamp, head in her hands and shoulders shaking. A fresh wave of rage washed through him. Running towards her, Jason mulled over what to say in his head. She didn’t look up as he approached, still bent over when he crouched down next to her.

“I know you aren’t going to believe me,” he said. He was still trying to catch his breath. “But please just let me say something, okay?”

She stilled. Dread settled heavy in the pit of his stomach. Would she turn him away again? Before she could, he started talking.

“Dick and Tim are curious assholes. They like to meddle in my life and ruin anything good that comes into it. Dick always has his shitty opinions that he has to share. Tim thinks he’s smarter than everyone so he plays mind games with them. Stephanie is a weird kid, but she’s good, and a lot of the time she just goes along with whatever Tim does because she’s so goddamn head over heels in love with him.” Jason took a deep breath, slipping his hand into his pocket to close over the gift. “Donna was just there. Honestly, she probably wasn’t even paying attention.

“When you came into our lives, all of them knew there was something different about you. And I’m not just talking about your powers or whatever. You have this… this light. And you’re so fucking talented. When I looked up some of the pieces you’ve done, it was mindblowing. You could be a huge, big deal artist. But you chose to be a teacher instead. You chose to make a difference in people’s lives.”

Pausing, he looked over at her for a reaction. She had lifted her head to look at him, eyes puffy and red. His heart ached at the sight. But he powered on.

“For a long time, I’ve been a ghost. I took risks because I didn’t care if I lived or died. I was convinced that my heart had shriveled up in my chest. That I was just going to be cold for the rest of my life. But then I saw you, that day at the academy.” His breath caught, and he cleared his throat. “I felt warm for the first time in a long time.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Her voice was wrecked, rasping and weak.

“Because I want you to know that you’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.” Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he studied the gift. “You know, I haven’t bought a real gift for anyone in years. Not one that wasn’t given out of a sense of obligation. And this is the first time someone’s gone out of their way to give me a gift just because they wanted to.”

Setting the gift down, he braced his arms on his knees and gazed up at the few stars that were visible. Her breathing had evened out, and he saw her straighten out of the corner of his eye.

“You know, I keep telling myself that the only reason I care about you is because you’re useful to me,” Jason admitted. “But I know it’s a lie. That’s not why I care about you.”

“What are you saying?” She was watching him closely, a wounded animal wary of a gentle hand.

“I’m saying that I didn’t try to kiss you back there to humiliate you. Frankly, those three idiots are gonna be lucky if I don’t kill them for making you feel like this.” Taking a deep breath, he turned to look her in they eye. “I’m saying that I tried to kiss you because… because you make me feel something.”

“Oh.” Color bloomed in her cheeks, her teeth catching on her bottom lip again. The gesture tugged at him, stoked the hunger that was still there. “Jason, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything.” He picked up the gift and stood, offering his hand. “But I hope you’ll let me walk you home.”

She stared at his offered hand. For a brief moment, Jason was absolutely terrified that she was going to refuse it. That she was going to walk right out of his life and he’d go back to feeling cold. But then she took his hand, her fingers wrapping around his.

“Okay.” She smiled and it almost reached her eyes. “I think I’d like that.”

\----

Fingers laced with Jason’s, you walked slowly towards the metro station. His hand was warm, large compared to yours and rough with callouses. You were still hurt and humiliated, but you believe him.

_I trust you, Jason Todd._

Closer to the station, you winced and stumbled, nearly losing your footing. Jason caught you, ever so gentle. Without a word, he wrapped an arm around you and tucked you against his side. You leaned against him, bringing a hand up to keep your fingers twined with his. Pressed up against him like this, with him towering protectively over you, you felt safe. Sheltered from the cruelties of the world. The silence between you was comfortable. It acknowledged that there wasn’t much to say at that moment. Just a quiet, steady companionship.

On the train, Jason steered you to an empty section of the car. The two of you remained pressed together, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around your waist. His fingers drummed a gentle rhythm against your ribs, a soothing beat with a melody only he could hear. You closed your eyes, humming softly. Jason paused for a moment, and you paused with him. When he resumed his gentle touches against you, you continued your little melody.

For the first time in a very, very long time, everything felt like it had fallen into place. At some point, he rested his head against yours and hummed with you. The melody was sweet and soft, your voice lilting while his laid a firm bass. There were no words to it, of course. You weren’t sure if you would have been able to think of lyrics to your little melody. But it carried a meaning to it anyways.

At your stop, Jason helped you to your feet. You tucked yourself against his side again, hip aching more with each step. A couple of blocks from your building, he stopped you. Confused, you tilted your head up at him. Jason just smiled and crouched down in front of you, arms at his sides. You knew what he wanted. With a sigh of relief, you wrapped your arms around his neck, and he tucked his arms under your thighs to haul you up onto his back. He stood up effortlessly and kept a steady pace. Watching your breath fog in front of you, you pressed your cheek to his. Your breaths began to mingle in the cold night air, your breathing in synch with his as he finally reached your building. He paused before letting you down in front of the doors.

“Thank you,” you breathed. Your fingers felt cold without his wrapped around them. “Do you want to…?”

Jason smiled, a gentle expression. It suited him, you thought. He deserved more peace and kindness in his life. “I’d love to,” he murmured.

Taking his hand, you led him inside. The two of you remained quiet in the elevator, his fingers twitching when the doors opened on your floor. Turning to face him, you walked backwards, leading him forward. His jaw clenched, a shadow of doubt in his eyes.

“You’re nervous.” It wasn’t a question. You kept your voice soft.

“I’m afraid,” he answered. His eyes met yours, fingers tightening around yours. “I’m afraid I’m not enough.”

Those five words broke your heart. Pausing in front of your door, you shook your head. “Don’t be afraid. You are enough, Jason Todd. You are more than enough.”

Before he could see the emotion welling up in you, you turned away to unlock your door. His fingers skimmed over your hip, still seeking that physical connection. You stepped inside and he followed, your shadow for the moment. Closing the door with his foot, he cupped your face in his hands. In the dark, you couldn’t see his expression. But his hands were shaking. Reaching up, you pressed a hand over one of his and leaned into his touch.

“It’s okay, Jason.” You closed your eyes, letting his presence wash over you. “I trust you.”

“Why?” he asked, pressing his forehead to yours. “Why do you trust me?”

You pressed your hand over his heart, smiling. “Because I know that you have a good heart. Because I was hurt and humiliated and I said awful things to you. Because you came after me anyways. Because you comforted me even though you were scared. You are a good man, Jason Todd. Don’t ever doubt that.”

His breath hitched, fingers twitching against your jaw. Stepping closer, you pressed both hands to his chest. Whatever warmth he felt from you, you tried to channel it into him. Closing your eyes, you let a small amount of your true self bubble under your skin and felt for the connection you knew was already there. When you found it, you poured all of your feelings into it. Your nerves, your anxiety, your fear, your adoration… You let him feel what you felt.

When you broke off the connection, he let out a shaking sigh.

“Do you trust me?” you asked.

“Yes,” he breathed. “I trust you with all of my heart.”

With that, he closed the distance and kissed you. It was warm and slow, unhurried and soft. His lips were wind-chapped, but you didn’t mind. One of his hands slid to the back of your neck, the other resting at your hip. You wound your arms around his neck, stretching up to meet him. Breaking apart, he caught his breath while you caught your own. His hands slid up to cup your jaw again, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I smudged your lipstick,” he whispered.

You huffed out a small laugh, fingers curling around his wrists. “That’s okay,” you said. “The rest of my makeup was ruined anyways.”

“You still look beautiful.” He tilted your head up. “Always beautiful.”

It was such a simple compliment, but it made you breath catch in your throat. There was a weight to his words, a solemnity that struck a chord in you. You caught his gaze, a shaft of streetlight illuminating his green eyes.

“You’re breathtaking,” you murmured. “And you look devastating tonight.”

Jason chuckled, lips bushing against yours in a fleeting kiss. You pressed up into the touch, chasing his lips for more. Ever cruel, he denied you, thumb pressing over your lips.

“Never took you for a sweet talker.” Voice even lower than usual, his words turned your legs to jelly. His thumb caught your lower lip, eyes darkening. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

Oh, that was unfair. Your grip around his wrists tightened, your own voice husky when you answered. “That depends. Is it working?”

“Always,” he growled. The sound went straight to you core, melting you from the inside out. You tried to arch up to kiss him. His fingers tightened on your jaw, stopping you and tilting your head back. It got you much hotter than it should have. “You’re playing a dangerous game, princess.”

You felt breathless, dizzy with want. His words fed into the hunger gnawing at you, the need to press him further. Remembering that first glimpse of raw hunger in his eyes, you sank your teeth into your lower lip and fluttered your eyelashes. No words needed to be said. Something akin to a snarl left him and he crashed his lips to yours.

This kiss was not slow. It was not gentle and searching. It was searing and demanding, desperate and rough. His hand moved to fist in the hair at the back of your head, jerking you back and making you whimper. Catching his breath, his eyes roamed your face. You were certain that you looked wrecked and needy, fingers clutching at the front of his leather jacket. Eyes glazed, he brushed a thumb over the pulse in your neck. He seemed to catch himself then, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Hold loosening, he pressed a gentle kiss to your jaw.

“Not tonight,” he breathed. Hot, sick disappointment began to settle in your gut. “I want us both to be levelheaded when we do. You’re still shaking, sweetheart.”

Logically, you knew that he was right. Emotions were running high, your pride still smarting from the events earlier. You were both sober, but the alcohol you had drank was likely fanning the flames. With a heavy sigh, you nodded in agreement.

“Okay.” _I trust you, Jason Todd._ “Okay. But… could you still stay the night?”

“Of course.” He smiled, warm and real and present. Sated for the moment. “I’d like to open your present, too.”

“Oh, right.” In the heat of the moment, you’d completely forgotten he’d brought it with him. Clearing your throat and stepping back, you dropped your gaze to your feet. “Would you like something to drink?”

“It’s a bit too late for coffee,” he said. “But I think tea would be nice.”

“Okay.” You nodded, taking another step back and then moving around him to turn on the lights. “Have a seat.”

Shuffling into the kitchen, you caught sight of Ragdoll standing in the doorway, tail flicking. You narrowed your eyes at him. The little shit had probably been watching you. In response, he blinked slowly and pawed at his empty dish. You rolled your eyes and took down food for him before getting out the mugs. Filling them with water and place a bag of chamomile tea in each, you put them both in the microwave to heat up. Humming, you hopped up on the counter and let your shoes slip from your feet. Toes curling, you closed your eyes and focused on the soft hum of the microwave and your own little melody. When the tea was ready, you took the mugs out to the living room.

Jason had already kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket. His shoes had been neatly placed next to your shoe rack by the door, jacket folded and draped neatly over a chair. Smiling, you crossed the room and joined him on the couch. He’d stretched out over most of it, head resting at one end and feet propped up on the other. Sitting down in the space near his hip, you handed him his mug.

“Glad to see you’ve made yourself comfortable,” you said.

Smirking, he took a sip of his tea before reaching to set it down on the coffee table in front of him. The gift sat next to it, still wrapped up carefully. Your nerves spiked again as he picked it up, his thumbs carefully sliding under the tape to open it without tearing into it. Unfolding the paper, he stared at the box for a moment before looking up at you. You motioned for him to go on. He opened the box, eyes widening when he saw the watch. Sleek and black, it had deep red accents on the face and an adjustable band. It had been the first thing to catch your eye in the store. For a few tense seconds, he did not speak.

“Do… do you like it?” you asked, nervous.

“This is too much.” He looked up at you again, disbelief written all over his face. “This is a really nice watch. You must have spent a lot on it, I can’t—”

“I bought it for you because I wanted to,” you interrupted. Setting your mug down next to his, you leaned over him, bracing your hands on either side of his head. “You’re worth it, Jason.”

In that moment, you had achieved the impossible: you had rendered Jason Todd speechless. His eyes flickered between you and the watch, still not quite absorbing it. With a sigh, you plucked the box from his hands and removed the watch.

“Which wrist do you wear your watch on?” you asked.

Wordlessly, he offered you his right wrist. Taking it, you slipped on the watch, making sure the band was adjusted correctly before guiding his hand back down to rest on his chest. A bit of the humiliation had faded, replaced by well-earned smugness. The look on his face was absolutely priceless. Reaching up, he grabbed the back of your neck and arched up to kiss you. You deepened the kiss, hand resting on his chest as his fingers tightened. Finally, you broke the kiss, smirking.

“Just to warn you, I’m going to be smug about this moment for the rest of my life,” you said.

Laughing, his hand slipped away so he could retrieve his tea. Jason scooted up the sofa so that he was more sitting than laying on it, back supported by the arm rest. One leg dangling off the front, he arched an eyebrow.

“Are you gonna come sit with me properly or what?” he asked.

Smirk melting into a smile, you picked up your mug and shifted so that you were settled with your back against his chest, leg draping over his own. He moved so that his arms were around you, resting his mug on your knee and pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. The gesture made you shudder, biting your lip. Immediately picking up on your reaction, he pressed another kiss to the same spot. Eyes slipping closed, you let your head droop forward. With more skin exposed, he peppered more kisses along the column of your threat. You bit your lip to keep a moan from slipping out, one hand shooting out to grip his thigh. He paused, breath caught in his throat.

“If you keep doing that,” you breathed, voice shaking, “this is going to escalate very quickly.”

“Noted,” he said, voice strained.

Taking a calming breath, you relaxed back against him again. The chamomile tea soothed your nerves, smoothing down the creases in your mind. Jason finished his tea before you, wrapping both arms around your middle and burying his face in your shoulder. Finishing your own mug, you set it aside before reaching a hand up to gently card your fingers through his hair. He sighed, going boneless at the gesture. Chuckling, you gently massaged the nape of his neck with your fingertips. A shudder passed through him, arms tightening around you.

“It’s late,” he murmured. “We should go to bed.”

_We should go to bed._ It was such an innocent phrase, said so casually. But it felt intimate, deeply so. _We should go to bed._ Shared companionship, a warm body next to yours. It struck you, then, just how lonely you had been until you met him.

“Yes,” you whispered, “we should go to bed.”

You started to get up to take the mugs into the kitchen, but the gesture was immediately interrupted. Tossing you over his shoulder, Jason carried you out of the living room and down the hall to your bedroom. Unfreezing after a moment of surprise, you huffed and smacked his ass as hard as you could. He only laughed, smacking your ass back and making you yelp. Once he was in your room, he deposited you on the bed. Breathless, you grinned up at him, watching the way his expression tightened. Just for the hell of it, you stretched out, skirt hiking further up your thighs. Jason groaned, crawling over you and pressing his face into your shoulder.

“You’re killing me,” he said, voice muffled. “I only have so much self-control.”

“Sorry,” you chuckled. “I’ll stop. Oh, I still have those clothes you loaned me. They’re clean, too.”

“You’re the best.” He pressed a kiss to you jaw before sitting back up. “I was not looking forward to sleeping in jeans.”

“Well, what can I say. I aim to please.” You laid it on thick, voice syrupy sweet.

He smirked in response, fingers skimming over your leg. “That you do, sweetheart.”

Biting your lip, you grinned at him as he gave you another warning look. Sitting up as well, you crossed over to your dresser and pulled out the boxers and sweatpants. “Do you want the flannel too?” you asked.

“No,” he said. “I don’t like sleeping with a shirt on.”

Well. That got your attention. You paused as you were pulling out the sweatpants, mind wandering. Glancing over your shoulder at him, you frowned.

“I’m being sincere,” Jason said, holding up his hands. “Cross my heart.”

“I guess that’s fine,” you simpered. Tossing the boxers and sweatpants at him, you turned back to dig out your own pajamas. “The bathroom is just down the hall to the right, if you want to change there. I’m sure you remember, since you’ve broken in here three times before.”

The sound of his shirt hitting the floor was deafening. He was changing _right there_. Unsure of what to do, you pulled out an oversized t-shirt and your usual sleep shorts. With another person in the bed, you didn’t want to overheat. Then you just stood there, like a fool, uncertain of what to do in your own home. The sound of his zipper going down was somehow even louder.

“I don’t mind if you look,” he said, utterly casual. Your jaw clenched. “I figure you’ll probably see it all anyw—”

You threw your cardigan to the ground. Jason shut up. Two miracles in one night. Chin tilted up, you put every ounce of confidence you had in your voice.

“Could you unzip me? It can be a bit difficult for me,” you said.

“Uh,” Jason said. Then he cleared his throat. “Yeah, of course.”

Footsteps approached, and you tensed in preparation for his hands on you. One hand rested on your shoulder as the other located the zipper on the back of your dress. Breath fanning over the back of your neck, he slowly dragged the zipper down. His knuckles brushed over your spine, and you knew he was trying to get a rise out of you. Unfortunately, it worked. You swallowed thickly when his hand came to rest at the small of your back.

“Thank you,” you ground out. That plan had backfired.

Ever the complete asshole, Jason let his fingers graze back up your spine before resting on the back of your neck. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear. “You’re welcome.”

Then he was gone, padding back over to his previous spot. Arms crossed in front of you to keep your dress up, you closed your eyes and counted to ten. Then you turned to face him, arms slipping to your stomach. He was watching you. Of course, he was watching you. Your breath caught again. In the dim light, you could only just barely see him. But it was more than enough. Jason Todd was built like a brick shithouse. Every inch of him screamed of power, broad and muscular. One of your sleeves slipped off of your shoulder. A flash of green let you know that he was watching the movement, the slide of deep red against your skin. The power was, suddenly, back in your hands. Lowering your eyes, you let your dress slip from you, pooling on the floor at your feet. In just your bra and panties, you felt exposed. Uncomfortable in your skin. Jason’s eyes were still on you, taking in every inch of skin. Another silent moment passed, tense and heavy. Then he pulled his pants down and you tore your eyes away from him, face burning hot.

Not yet. You didn’t want to see all of him yet. You turned back away from him, unhooking your bra and tossing it to the floor as well. You slipped on the oversized shirt and heard him huff in disappointment. Closing your eyes and praying for patience, you pulled on your sleep shorts as well. Keeping your eyes to the ground, you turned around and shuffled towards the door.

“Well, I’m gonna go wash my face, so…” You jerked your thumb towards the hall. “Uh, get comfortable, I guess?”

Before he could respond you were out the door and down the hall, slamming the bathroom door closed behind you. Leaning against it, you caught your breath. Your reflection was a hot mess; smeared make up, puffy, bloodshot eyes, and flushed cheeks. Pinning your hair back, you grumbled as you washed off your makeup. Sure, the night had taken a turn for the better. But no one could get under your skin quite like Jason Todd. Drying your face, you looked at your reflection in the mirror.

“Self-control, girl,” you told yourself. “Fucking self-control.”

Turning off the light, you limped back to the bedroom. Warm, soft light filtered out into the hall. Poking your head in, you saw that Jason had turned on the bedside lamp. Gathering your strength, you walked in and gathered your clothes off of the floor to dump in the hamper. Jason lounged on the side of the bed closest to the door, arms folded behind his head. Watching you putter around, he sighed.

“Just come to bed,” he said. “I’m not going to try anything.”

You spluttered, whirling on him. “I didn’t think you were!”

“Then why are you so nervous?” he asked.

Because you didn’t trust yourself not to try anything. Because he looked so soft and sleepy, hair mussed and eyes hooded. Because in that moment, you wanted to eat him alive. Instead, you smiled and stamped down on your arousal. It wasn’t fair that he looked so perfect, but you could get through this.

“Just the usual nerves,” you said. Crawling into bed, you reached across him to turn off the lamp.

He caught your wrist, glancing over at you. Your heart raced, your nerves hypersensitive where his fingers met your skin. He could feel your pulse. A knowing grin grew on his face and you rolled your eyes. “Please just let me turn of the light, Jason,” you grumbled.

“Mm, I guess I can do that.” He let go of your wrist, settling back down again.

Leaning further over him, you successfully turned off the lamp before laying back. You closed your eyes, taking another measured breath. Then you shifted to lift the blankets up. Jason let you, sliding in under the comforter and blanket with you. In the dark, you became hyper-aware of him. Heat seemed to radiate off of him in waves, his skin so close to your own. Giving in, you turned towards him, ghosting your fingers over his bicep. It was enough. Jason pulled you to him, your head tucked into his shoulder and his arms around you. Your legs tangled with his own, hands resting against his chest.

“Good night, Jason,” you breathed. Already, the steady beat of his heart and gentle breathing was lulling you to sleep.

“Good night, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

Eyes slipping closed, you fell into an easy, comfortable slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so soft. this made me so soft. tbh this was the chapter i've really been looking forward to writing. [gently places hands on desk] more soft jason pls. 
> 
> going back and forth on whether i want to up the rating on this and write some smut. what do y'all think?
> 
> also i wrote this listening to mitski's cover of let's get married on repeated bc it is so!! soft!!! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5zuvs8EZDY
> 
> if you've read this far, thank you!! comments and kudos are always appreciated


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the morning after. paintings are shown and agreements are made.
> 
> chapter warnings: sexual content (non-explicit)
> 
> _"oh i'm good at keepin my distance  
>  i know that you're the feelin i'm missing  
> you know that i hate to admit it  
> but everything means nothing if i can't have you."_

Early morning light filtered through the curtains, rousing you gently from sleep. Slowly coming back to consciousness, you rubbed at your eyes before opening them. The blankets had been kicked down towards the foot of the bed at some point during the night. Jason Todd slept at your back, curled around you. Legs tangled, you yawned and placed a hand over the arm he’d draped around you. Ragdoll had curled up at the foot of the bed, sleeping soundly as you shifted. Groaning, Jason’s arm tightened around you, pulling you flush against his back. You sighed and let him. Turning your head to look back at him, you reached back and ruffled his hair.

“Mm, Jason, it’s time to wake up,” you mumbled.

“Don’t wanna.” Oh lord, was his morning voice something. You shivered at the sound of it, deep and rumbling and scratchy. Nuzzling the back of your neck, he squeezed you. “Wanna stay here.”

“I need coffee,” you whined. You also needed to pee, but you were less inclined to mention that one to him.

“’m better than coffee.” His lips brushed over a particularly sensitive spot at the bas of your neck, drawing a whine from you.

“Jason, please.” Squirming, you attempted to slip out of his hold.

Instead, he concentrated attention on that spot. His hand had slipped lower on your belly, breath hot against your skin. Of course he’d be the type to wake up horny.

“I need to pee,” you mumbled.

He paused, fingers having hiked your shirt up to your ribs. “Oh. Well why didn’t you just say so?”

“Asshole,” you grumbled, finally wriggling out of his hold. Ragdoll had been roused by your arguing, yawning and blinking sleepily.

“Come back with coffee,” he called after you.

The man was lucky you were so attracted to him, because with that attitude you were tempted to throw him out the window. After a quick stop in the bathroom, you shuffled out to the kitchen. Your trusty little coffee pot had a full pot ready and waiting for you. Taking down two clean mugs, you filled both with black coffee. No creamer for you this morning. Food went in the cat’s dish (he came running at the sound and you could hear Jason laughing from the bedroom) and then you were limping back with the mugs.

Jason was sitting up, rubbing at his eyes. In the grey morning light, you could see him better. His muscles flexed as he stretched his arms over his head and yawned. When he caught sight of you in the doorway, he gave you a sleepy grin.

“Hey beautiful,” he said. “And I’m not talking to the coffee.”

“Very funny,” you grumbled. Still sleepy, you shuffled over and offered one mug to him. “So glad you have a sense of humor before I have my morning coffee.”

“If you didn’t like it deep down, you would’ve kicked me out of bed.” He took a sip of coffee and waited until you were settled next to him before he leaned over and kissed your cheek. “Mm, morning breath, sorry.”

“Don’t mind it.” You yawned again, sipping at your own coffee. “Just don’t kiss me until I’ve finished my first cup of coffee.”

“Wow.” He laughed, deep and husky. “Hardline rules are already being set, huh?”

“I’m not barbaric.” Shooting him a glare, you took another sip and leaned back against the headboard with a sigh. “But, in all seriousness… I think maybe we should talk.”

Quiet for a moment, Jason took another drink before answering you. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Well, I mean…” You shuffled so that you were sitting cross-legged, facing him and nursing your coffee. “I guess the elephant in the room. What do we do next?”

“That’s all up to you.” He shrugged, setting the mug on the coffee table and rolling on his side to face you. “I’ll let you call the shots in this. Whatever you’re comfortable with, I’m comfortable with.”

That was an awful lot of pressure. You scrunched up your nose, throwing back the last of your coffee and leaning over him to place your mug next to his. To his credit, he didn’t get grabby and let you settle back down. “I guess… I just want to take things one step at a time. I… I really like you, Jason. A lot. Whatever we end up doing, I’m serious about it.”

“I’m serious about it too.” Reaching out, he took your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re special. I know I said that last night, but I want to say it again this morning. There’s a lot of weirdness in both of our lives. My life can be really dangerous, too. There may be times when I’ll be gone for weeks. I may have to cancel plans last minute. Emergencies happen all the time.”

“I understand.” You brought your hands up, kissing his knuckles. They were rough with scars, warm against your skin. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll let you know. But I still want to help you. Whenever I can, wherever I can. My job comes first, but I want to be useful to you, too.”

Jason smiled, warm and soft. It melted you and you gave him an answering smile. Propping himself up on an elbow, he brushed your hair back from your face. “I’ll always accept your help. But only if it doesn’t risk your health and safety.”

“Mm, understood.” Leaning into his touch, you let your eyes slip closed. His hand cupped your jaw, and you felt the bed shift as he sat up.

“Am I allowed to kiss you now?” Jason whispered, breath mingling with your own.

You answered him by closing the gap, kissing him slow and sweet. He smiled against your lips, kissing you just as sweetly. Pulling back, you looked down at your hands in your lap, a sudden wave of shyness washing over you.

“Can I kiss you again?” Jason was relentless. He tipped your face up, fingers gentle on your chin. You flushed when you saw the look in his eye. “Well?”

You nodded and he bent to kiss you again. Just as slow, but a bit more urgent. Your body gravitated towards his, hands resting on his chest. His skin was warm under your palms, his breath hitching at the contact. The kiss deepened, his hand at the back of your neck again. He pulled back this time, eyes scanning your face. You felt overheated, fingers slipping up to his shoulders. Thick scars ran over his torso, rough under your palms. You traced one under his left clavicle with your finger, eyes following its path.

“That’s from a knife.” His voice was quiet. You glanced up to find him watching you, a sad smile on his face. “Crime Alley, two years back. Guy hiding in the shadows.”

Just as tenderly, you let your fingers wander to a puckered scar just above his right hip. “This one?” you asked.

“Gun shot. Low caliber. Six years ago. I was in Russia.” The shadows on his face were beginning to morph into something different. Curious, you continued to examine him.

A long, wicked scar ran from just under his left ribs to his hip. Your fingertips fluttered over it, some part of you worried that somehow you were hurting him. When he sucked in a breath as your fingers settled just above his waistband, you looked up at his face again.

His pupils were blown, breathing ragged. Was he… into his? “Switchblade. I was sixteen, got in a fight.”

Biting your lip, you decided to be bold. Shifting so that you were straddling his lap, you draped yourself over him and traced a long scar on his back that stretched from hip to shoulder blade. Jason shuddered, his hands coming to rest on your hips. When he didn’t answer, you sat back on your heels and brushed a thumb over his cheek.

“I can stop,” you whispered.

“No.” His voice was ragged, eyes closed. “It’s… it’s nice. Not everyone I’ve been with has touched them like that.”

“You don’t have to tell me the stories.” Your thumb brushed over the scar above his eyebrow. “I’m sad that you’ve been hurt so many times. But they’re a part of you, so I can’t help but be fascinated.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. When his eyes finally opened, there was a heat in them that floored you. “You’re into scars, huh? Kinky.”

You laughed. “Not just any scars. Besides, I’ve got a few myself.”

“Oh?” Fingers brushing up and under your shirt, you shivered as his hands settled ones more on your hips. “It’s only fair that you share, don’t you think?”

Color rose to your skin, a hot flush at the prospect. Your previous partners had seen the scars, obviously. But most had either showed no interest or been repulsed. Lifting your shirt with one shirt and pushing down your shorts with the other, you bared the worst of them to his eyes. Puckered scars littered your left side from where shards of rib had punched through the skin. A series of long scars stretched over your bad hip from the surgery. And there was a smaller scar on your stomach, resting just over your belly button. It was this one that Jason’s hand went to, fingers brushing over it.

“My mom was dating this guy when I was 16. She wasn’t home at all, but he was. He always was. Long story short, we didn’t get along, I picked a fight and hit him with a dinner plate, he stabbed me in the stomach. I didn’t press charges.” You shivered when he traced it again with his thumb. “I filed for emancipation pretty shortly after that.”

“If I ever meet him, I’ll kill him.” Anger roughened his voice, his fingers curling over the scars on your hip.

“Not even sure where he’d be now.” You shrugged, cupping his face in your hands. “And he wouldn’t be worth it. I got over it a long time ago, Jason.”

A shadow passed over his face again as your shirt fell back down, scars obscured once more. Looking up at you, he tightened his grip on you. “It would be worth it. Anyone who’s ever hurt you would be worth it.”

You shuddered. That was Red Hood speaking, not just Jason Todd. And if you were being honest… it was working for you. A lot. “This is probably fucked up,” you murmured, “but you’re really hot when you’re pissed off.”

Jason looked startled for a second before busting into laughter. Yanking you towards him, he caught you around the middle as you caught yourself on the headboard, his face pressed into your shoulder.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” he said. “I’d better be careful where I take you or you may be jumping me constantly.”

Huffing out a laugh, you threaded your fingers in his hair. The product he’d used the night before had mussed it up further in his sleep and you worked out the tangles with your fingers. Jason hummed, tilting his head back. You smiled, taking the opportunity to bend down and kiss him. Just a fleeting brush of your lips against his. But it sparked something in him. Maybe it was your fingers tangled in his hair. Maybe it was the thought of you jumping his bones in a dark alley. But the kiss was returned with a hunger you weren’t prepared for.

The grip on your hips turned bruising as he shifted to sit up straighter. Just to see what would happen, you tugged his hair, pulling his head back and breaking the kiss. Jason’s eyes shot open, a growl rumbling from his chest. Next thing you knew, you were on your back and he was over you, the kiss evolving into something brutal, all teeth and tongue. Pulling back, he grabbed your wrist and snarled.

“You keep going like this and things will escalate very quickly.” His voice was a low rumble, eyes dark and hungry. “You ready for that, sweetheart?”

Were you ready? Your body screamed yes, back arching and legs wrapping around his waist. Your animal brain screamed that you were more than ready, that you needed his dick inside of you five minutes ago. But the sensible part of you was yelling to pump the breaks. This was escalating quickly and you couldn’t remember if you had condoms in your nightstand or not. Taking a deep breath, you let your fingers loosen in his hair.

“I… I don’t know,” you murmured.

That sobered him up very quickly. Releasing your wrist, he rolled off of you and pulled you to lay side by side with him. Whatever feral thing had gotten him worked up was quickly fading. Pressing your hand to his chest, he smiled.

“That’s okay. Sorry, I got… a little worked up.” His laugh was strained, eyes still glazed. “I’m trying.”

“I know you are.” Scooting closer, you pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Don’t get me wrong. I want you. So, so much. But things are just so…”

“Complicated,” he finished for you. “I know. I wish I could simplify them for you.”

“I wish you could too.” You pressed another kiss to the corner of his lips. “Just go slow for me. At least at first. You can get as rough as you want later down the line.”

That got his attention. He perked up, rolling one more time so you were back on top of him. “Well shit, I’m sold.”

“Let’s just go back a few steps. Rewind a few minutes back, if you will.” Sitting back on your heels again, you made a little motion with your hands to mimic rewinding. He snorted, and you scrunched your nose at him. “Shut up. Okay, we’re back. Ask me if you can kiss me.”

Jason looked lost for a moment before realization dawned. You thanked whatever gods were listening that he had a working head on his shoulders. Devious smirk appearing, he shifted up the bed as well, folding his hands over his stomach.

“Okay.” Pitching his voice low, he leaned towards you. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

Leaning forward, he kissed you slowly. Patiently, no urgency in it. Your hands came up to rest on his shoulders. Breaking the kiss, he held up his hands. “May I touch you?”

This time, you just nodded as an answer. His hands bracketed your hips, thumbs rubbing circles on your pelvic bones. You shivered. He continued.

“May I kiss you again?”

Another nod. This time there was more heat in the kiss, a promise of something more. You felt weak in the knees and settled properly in his lap, legs coming up to wrap around him. One of his hands drifted to rest on your thigh, squeezing.

“May I kiss your neck?” he whispered against your lips.

This time the closest he got to an answer was a whimper. It was almost embarrassing how quickly he’d wound you up. Smirking, he kissed his way from your mouth to your jaw, then worked is way to your throat. Tilting your head to the side, you exposed more of the skin there to him. He grazed his teeth against a sensitive spot, making you arch against him. Laving his tongue over the spot, he moved down to your collarbones, tugging at the collar of your shirt.

“May I take off your shirt?”

This request made you pause for a second. Jason waited patiently, careful not to push. Finally, you nodded. Instead of doing it himself, he guided your hands to the hem of the shirt. Swallowing back a sudden surge of nerves, you pulled it off over your head, tossing it off somewhere behind you. Embarrassed at the sudden exposure, you shifted on Jason’s lap. His head tilted back, jaw clenching.

“Shit,” he hissed. Taking a moment to compose himself, he ran his fingers along your ribcage, feeling each individual ridge. “This one is going to be… a little bit more all-purpose, if that’s okay.”

At this point, he could have asked you to skin yourself, and you would have done it without question. “Yeah,” you breathed. “Yeah, that’s okay. _Please_.”

Voice dipping low, he leaned up to whisper in your ear. “May I kiss you all over?”

The request had your face coloring, but you didn’t say no. Just the thought of it was exhilarating.

“Yes,” you moaned. “Please, god, yes.”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, he was kissing from your collarbones down to your chest. His hands guided you to shift up on him, fingers drumming against your ribs. Ever devious, he caught your eye before drawing a nipple between his teeth. You threw your head back, shuddering at the sensation. But he didn’t linger, pressing a few kisses over your breasts before he was rolling you carefully onto your back. The kisses resumed just under your ribs, skimming over the thin skin. Arms coming up over your eyes, you tried to catch your breath as he nipped at the skin just below your belly button. Strong hands ran up your thighs, urging you to your hips. You did so, his fingers hooking in your shorts. There was another pause, his cheek resting against your hip as he watched you.

“Can I—”

“Yes,” you cut him off, peeking down at him. “Yes, you don’t need to ask.”

Jason smiled against your skin as he slid your sleep shorts and your panties down to your ankles. You kicked them off, but pressed your thighs together when his gaze dropped lower down your body. Naked and exposed, your arms moved to cross over your chest. The fizzle pop of your power simmered in your bones, putting you on edge. Resting a hand on your hip, he propped himself back up to look you in the eye.

“Hey, look at me.” His voice was strained, but he was doing his best to sound gentle. “You’re beautiful. If you want to stop, we can stop. We don’t have to keep going if you feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m just nervous,” you said. Drawing your knees up, you tightened your grip on your shoulders. “I’m really sorry, Jason.”

“Stop apologizing.” He laughed, moving back up to lay on his side next to you, face to face. “I’ve got all the time in the world. Sex isn’t my main goal here. If you want to stop, we can stop. If you want to slow down, we can do that, too. I appreciate you at least trying for me.”

“It was kind of hot,” you admitted. “You, um, asking before you did anything.”

“Yeah, having even a little bit of power can step things up a notch. Kinda liked having you boss me around, honestly.” He brushed a thumb over your cheek, grinning. “Plus, I get to see you naked.”

“Oh my god.” You rolled away from him, covering your face with your hands. “You are so embarrassing.”

“You’ve got a nice ass too.”

Sitting up, you turned and smacked his shoulder. Jason only laughed, catching your hand so he could press a kiss to your palm. He was still breathing a bit heavy, eyes half-lidded when you caught his gaze.

“How hard are you?” You blanched at your own words, stunned by your own words.

Jason looked taken aback for a moment before he answered. “I mean, not as hard as I was when I was thinking of going down on you,” he huffed. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “But still pretty hard. I mean, you are still buck-naked right in front of me.”

Making a strangled noise, your eyes drifted towards his lap. His sweatpants were not hiding anything, and he was not lying. Flushing harder, you drew your knees up to your chest and pressed your hands over your face.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, “I’m horrible.”

“Only a little. I mean, I can take care of this pretty easy.” He shrugged, but his casual explanation only served to make you even more flustered.

“Should I—I mean I can take care of—”

Jason cut you off with a kiss to your shoulder before you could continue. “I think it’s best if you don’t. You’re pretty worked up. Let’s just get you another cup of coffee. Then we can shower and get breakfast.”

“Right.” You nodded, mulling it over in your head. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Rolling out of bed, he threw a wink back at you before making his way down the hall. Gathering the blankets around you, you closed your eyes and ran the words through your mind again.

_I trust you, Jason Todd._

\----

It took a superhuman feat of self-control for Jason not to suggest the two of you shower together. You appreciated it, especially since you were pretty sure he’d gotten close to biting clear through his lip to keep from saying it would “conserve water”. The excuse was bullshit, and both of you knew it. Instead, he took a shower first. You recognized that he needed to cool down a bit, guilty that you’d stopped things twice in less than an hour. He’d assured you multiple times that it was fine, seriously, it just meant the anticipation could build. You’d had to cool down during your own shower, as well. Your thoughts kept skipping to the press of his lips on your skin, the sting of his teeth. The water was switched to cold to ward off any further thoughts.

Towel drying your hair, you emerged from the bathroom to find him lounging on the couch. Ragdoll had curled up next to him, purring as he scratched the cat behind the ears. It brought a smile to your face. Sure, your cat was an attention slut. But the scene was just so utterly domestic. Crossing over to him, you pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Before I forget, I made a couple of paintings the other day for you. I don’t recognize what they’re of, but maybe you can.” You regretted bringing up the job in the middle of this little domestic bliss, but it was necessary. The sooner he could look at them, the better.

“That’s great.” He tilted his head back to look at you, frowning. “That’s a lot of work for one day, though.”

“I had some stuff to work through.” You shrugged. “It’s fine. As long as you don’t make me keep doing it, I won’t wear out. If you’ll grab the muffins from the kitchen, I’ll go get them and you can eat while you examine them.”

Jason reached up, pulling you down for a brief kiss before he got up. You smiled, fingers lingering on his hip for a second before he pulled away and headed to the kitchen. Lord, you were in deep. Shaking your head, you made your way to the bedroom and opened the closet. Both paintings sent a wave of unease through you. Although you’d been in a bit of a trance when you made them, the taste of smoke had lingered at the back of your throat. You eye caught on the painting Jason had seen, but you let it be. In his own time, he would tell you about it. Gathering up the new paintings, you made your way back to the living room. Jason had already set out the muffins, along with two oranges he must have dug out of the fridge and fresh cups of coffee.

“I’m impressed,” you said, wobbling over with the oversize canvases clutched to your chest. “Do you have superpowers you haven’t told me about?”

“Nope.” He popped the “p”, taking one of the paintings from you. “Afraid I’m just a boring, regular guy.”

“Who dresses up in a costume and shoots bad guys at night. And knows Batman.” Catching his eye, you grinned. “Pretty far from normal.”

“Point taken.” Smiling back, he helped you set both of them up against the TV stand. You both sat down on the couch, Jason sipping his coffee while you tore into a muffin. “Hm.”

His attention had zeroed in on the paintings. One was of a blazing fire, figures trapped in the blaze. The other was of a dense fog, obscuring the space it filled and rendering everything in it no more than blurs. Watching him out of the corner of your eye, you swallowed before you spoke.

“Anything look familiar?” you asked.

“Maybe.” Rubbing at his jaw, his brow furrowed. “There was a fire about a week ago on the docks. Arson, an unknown accelerant was used. The warehouse that burned down belonged to Black Mask.”

“And the other one?”

Jason shook his head, getting up to inspect it closer. “I’m not sure. It’s pretty blurry. Very unfocused. I can get in touch with the others, see if they know about any gas attacks in the area.”

A wave of disappointment washed over you. You’d tried, but in the end, you hadn’t been much help. “I’m sorry, Jason. I was hoping they’d be more focused.”

“It’s better than nothing.” His fingers brushed over the painting of the fog, feeling the textures. “This one at least clues us in to something we don’t know.”

“I can try again,” you offered. You shoved the rest of the muffin in your mouth, talking and chewing. “If I just focus a little bit harder—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, cutting you off. “I don’t want you wearing yourself out or having another episode. I’ll send pictures of these to Nightwing and we can see what we can find.”

“But I want to help.” You frowned, picking up your coffee. “If I help you, then—”

“Listen.” Turning to face you, Jason put his hands on his hips. “I want you to help. Like I said, it’s one of the reasons I took an interest in you. But this is dangerous stuff. These traffickers, they aren’t small time thugs. They’ve got tech and trained guys to make sure people like us don’t stick our noses in their business. I’m trained to handle this kind of thing. But you aren’t. I don’t want you getting too deep in this.”

“Then maybe I can do something else to help.” The pleading in your voice made you wince internally. Were you really lowering yourself to begging? “It’s clear that my powers run deeper than I realize. I can try to astral project or use telepathy or something.”

Jason sighed, running a hand over his face. Stubble had already begun to shadow his jaw and you made a note to keep a razor for him. Just in case. “You’re really intent on inserting yourself in this, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one who brought me in in the first place,” you pointed out. “If my paintings can’t help, I’ll find a different way. Hell, I can even be a decoy or some—”

“No.” His tone left no room for argument, face darkening. “Out of the question.”

“Jason, I can handle myself, and I trust you to—”

“You are _not_ going to put yourself in danger for this case.” Approaching you, he leaned over and placed his hands on either side of your head. “You don’t have any proper training. Sending you in to one of these rings would be a death sentence. If you really want to work this deeper, you’re running back up. Understand?”

“You’re sexy when you get bossy,” you purred, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Shoulders slumping, he shook his head. “You are going to be the death of me,” he groaned. “Please. I’m being serious here.”

“And so am I.” You reached up, lacing your fingers behind his neck. “It’s hot. You’re hot. And I’ll do what I want.”

Grumbling, Jason let you pull him down for a chaste kiss, one knee resting on the couch. You peppered kisses over his face until he stopped being grumpy, hands tangled in your hair.

“So, does this mean I get a codename?” you whispered against his lips.

“Don’t push it,” he said, pressing you back into the couch and kissing you harder. You both knew it was the best way to get you to shut up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we gettin' spicy, my dears. i'm bumping that rating up because there is smut incoming. next chapter has some proper exploring of reader's power and a couple of my favorite teen titans.
> 
> also, i.e. the spiciness in this chapter: do not be afraid to speak up if you don't feel comfortable progressing a sexual situation!! a good partner will respect this and help de-escalate. you should never feel guilty for stopping something that you aren't 100% comfortable with and enthusiastic about. 
> 
> if you've read this far, thank you!! comments and kudos are always appreciated


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> training is given and a line is crossed
> 
> chapter warnings: explicit sexual content, mild kink negotiation
> 
> _"i wanna do bad things to you  
>  slide on through my window  
> i want you in my room  
> baby don't you want me too?"_

Nightwing looked incredibly familiar. Maybe it was just your memory of being saved by him back in high school, but you had that same gut feeling with him that’d you’d had with Jason. He also looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Red Hood told me about your, uh… situation and called in a favor. These are my friends, Raven and Superboy. They should be able to help you with your powers.” He motioned to the two teenagers standing behind him, a girl wearing a hooded costume and a boy who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. “Raven, Superboy, this is, uh…”

“Call me Fantasia,” you said with a smile. Jason groaned from his seat at the computer behind you. He’d told you multiple times that he hated the codename. You thought it was cool. “It’s nice to meet both of you!”

Nightwing had agreed to bring his two companions to Red Hood’s warehouse. It was remote enough that none of you had to worry about being discovered and if you went out of control, the damage wouldn’t come with potential human collateral. Both teenagers just stared at you, clearly bored out of their minds. You suspected neither of them had been thrilled by the idea of coming to train an adult meta they barely knew and who had no experience at all. However, you had gotten pretty good at dealing with surly teens.

Turning to Raven, you offered a bright smile. “I remember reading something about you online. You’re in the Teen Titans, right?”

“Yeah,” she said. Something about her voice unsettled you. An echo to it that you couldn’t quite understand. “Why go with Fantasia?”

“Well, I’m an artist for my day job,” you explained. “Plus, I just thought it sounded cool.”

“It’s lame,” Superboy grumbled. Yeah, you knew his type all too well. Surly and angry at the world. Hell, you had _been him_.

“I think it might grow on you,” you said. “I really appreciate both of you coming out to help me.”

“Nightwing didn’t give us much choice,” Superboy snapped. “Apparently this is more important than our missions.”

“Chill, Kon,” Nightwing said. He looked harried, arms folded tightly over his chest. “It’s just for a few days. Raven will get a feel for her powers and help her with telepathy, you work with her on the TK part.”

“You’re telekinetic?” You had to admit, you were surprised. You’d assumed that Superboy was cut from the same cloth as Superman. Maybe even from the same dead planet or something.

“Tactile telekinesis, to be specific.” Throwing himself into a chair, he picked at a fraying thread on the hem of his shirt. “Not sure how useful I’ll be.”

“Ignore him. He’s in one of his moods.” Raven stepped closer to you, pushing back her hood. “Are you okay with me getting in your head? It’s not pleasant. I can’t promise I won’t dig up things that you don’t want me to see.”

Truth be told, you were not at all comfortable with the idea. Having a teenage girl poke around in your memories was not something you’d usually volunteer for. But if it meant you could figure out the extent of your powers, you could power through it.

“Not exactly my idea of a fun night, but I’m okay with it.” Your laughter sounded nervous to your own ears, and Raven’s expression said she picked up on it as well. “Poke around. Just… don’t look at some of the more personal stuff if you can help it.”

“I’ll try not to,” she promised. “Lay down,” she instructed and motioned to the futon. “Close your eyes, and try not to focus on any specific thing.”

Lying down as instructed, you cushioned your head on your arm and looked up at her as she hovered over you. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.” Closing your eyes, you tried to clear your mind as her cool fingers pressed to your temples.

Images flashed through your head at a rapid pace. You could feel her cool touch in your mind, shuffling through each memory. Your first art class, holidays spent alone in a dark apartment, a knife slipping into your belly, pills sliding all too easy down your throat, rubble crushing you, a warm hand cupping your cheek… You twitched as she sorted through them, reaching deeper into your mind. The chill spread into your bones and you swore she was poking around into the very core of your being. Raven brushed up against something in the corner of your mind and you felt power explode through your veins. It rushed through you, warm and fizzing and making your teeth ache. As soon as it had come it disappeared, tucking itself back away into the corner she’d drawn it from.

Your eyes snapped open, a cold sweat broken out on your brow. Raven kept her fingers at your temples, eyes rolled back into her head. She changed something under her breath, the pain in your hip slowly fading. When she finally pulled away, the ache was gone. No hip problems, no splitting headaches. Blinking up at the ceiling, you pressed a hand to your forehead.

“Your powers are tucked away too neatly, Fantasia.” Raven had moved to the other side of you, extending a hand. You took it, letting her help you into a sitting position. “Your medications made them unstable. I have tried to balance them, but you will have to focus at all times to keep control. Meditation works best.”

“Oh.” Your voice was raw, as if you’d been screaming for hours on end. For all you knew, you could have been. You’d been sucked into your mind with her, wading through the muck you tried to hide away. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So what are we looking at here, Raven?” Red Hood interrupted, foot tapping impatiently. He was agitated. You wanted to go to him, smooth out the wrinkles and soothe his bristling temper. But now was not the time. You had both agreed not to make whatever it was you were known during his night job. “Standard boiler plate ESP?”

“She is a minor empath,” she said. “Although her power tends towards a psychic link for reading instead of manipulation. Minor postcognition, mostly clairvoyant. It is her telekinesis that is the strongest.” Raven waved her hand, shadows forming into a strange diagram. “I would rank it as first level. It is powerful enough that when she is rendered unconscious it can manifest from her subconscious to protect her.”

Superboy whistled, kicking his feet up and studying Raven’s diagram. “Impressive. I might be a little interested now.”

“What does first level mean?” you asked. Dabbing at your face with your sleeve, you tried to make sense of what she was laying out. “Is that good?”

“It means you’re ranked at the top of the power scale, so to speak.” Nightwing cut in, frowning as he motioned towards you. “It’s good if you learn how to control it. But it also means it could be cataclysmic if you don’t.”

You thought about that night at the manor, the bruises on Tim’s face. Although their meddling still hurt, you didn’t want a repeat of your explosion. Jason was looking at you. Even with his helmet on, you could feel the weight of his gaze. Running a hand through your hair, you sighed.

“Okay.” Nodding, you looked around at each of them. Raven, her face calm and aura quiet. Superboy, radiating rage and curiosity in equal measures. Nightwing, uncomfortable in your presence for reasons unknown to you. And Jason, steadying even with his uneven temper. “Well then. Let’s get started.”

“I’ll start.” Superboy stood up. Rolling his neck, he shook out his hands before turning to you. “Stand up. We’re going to do this trial by fire.”

“What?” You frowned, getting slowly to your feet. You weren’t sure how Raven had done it, but walking around the futon to face the teen no longer hurt. For the first time in nearly a week, your stride was even. “I don’t—”

A wave of force hit you before you could finish speaking. You went flying, colliding hard with the wall. Gritting your teeth, you pushed yourself back up to your feet. Superboy just looked smug, arms crossed.

“First lesson: learn how to block attacks,” he said. Waiting until you were standing steady, he shoved his hands out again.

Just like before, you went skidding back. He’d pulled his punch the second time. Likely because Red Hood had put a hand on his pistol. Not that you thought a gun was much of a threat against a telekinetic alien. Catching your breath, you braced yourself for his next attack. The familiar fizzling appeared, muted. It was enough to let the wave roll over you, a few boxes behind you smashing against the wall.

“Good.” Superboy nodded, shaking out his hands. “Second lesson is how to attack. Focus on your fists. Let the power pool there, then throw it outwards. If you’re ever in a pinch, you can just keep it there and it’s as good as super strength.”

“Huh.” You looked down at your hands, trying to concentrate on directing the bubbling to the palms of your hands. Your fingers twitched and the light above you shattered instead. Flinching away from the shattered glass, you brushed a few shards from your hair. “Okay, uh…” You closed your eyes, trying again. The fizzling stayed in your palms, a warm glow just under your skin. Taking a deep breath, you shoved your hands at Superboy, letting the power explode outwards.

The blast sent him flying backwards, although he caught himself in midair. You stared as he hovered above the ground, looking far too smug. “Not bad,” he said. “Maybe we can get to flight without you hurting yourself.”

“That’s not necessary.” Jason spoke up, standing up from his chair. “She’s a non-combatant. Raven, work with her on her empathy and postcognition. Those are really what we want to focus on. Nightwing, Superboy, I want to talk.”

“Uh oh,” you muttered. Jason was _definitely_ in a mood. Glancing over at Raven, you offered her a hesitant smile. “So, I guess I’m in your hands now.”

The teenager only nodded, eyes tracing the three men as they left the warehouse. You would have loved to have been in on the meltdown that was sure to happen, but knew you had to focus. Taking a deep breath, you sat down next to Raven and prepared yourself for her lessons.

\----

The sound of your window opening pulled you from the meditative trance you’d managed to put yourself in. Three days of training with Raven had been emotionally and mentally taxing, but already you found yourself depending less and less on the prescription cocktail you’d used as a crutch for so many years. Your training with Superboy tended to be brief, ending with Jason either yelling at him or Nightwing stopping him when you collapsed under the strain. You’d had very little time to yourself or with Jason, the two of you always managing to be busy with something else. Taking a deep breath, you kept your eyes closed and focused on reaching out with your aura. The consciousness you brushed up against was warm, red as blood.

“You know you can just come in through the front door, Jason.” Opening your eyes, you let your trance break fully, landing on the sofa. The levitation was new, but you found it calming. A floating sensation to go along with the warmth of your power. “You don’t have to use the window.”

“It’s more exciting this way,” he grunted. Staggering to his feet, he released the latches on his helmet and tossed it in the chair.

“You look like hell.” You frowned. His hair was a wild mess, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. Standing up, you padded over to where he was standing, swaying on his feet. “Have you been sleeping at all?”

“Not really,” he admitted. Rubbing at his eyes, he leaned against you as you wrapped your arms around him. “I’ve been trying to track those leads you gave us. Whoever is behind this, they’re covering their tracks.”

“You need to rest,” you murmured. When your hand brushed over his side he hissed in pain. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a few bruised ribs.” He pulled away, trying to shrug out of his jacket. You helped him with it, unzipping his body armor for him and helping him sit down on the couch. “Ran into a pack of metas. One of them packed a pretty good punch.”

Rolling up his compression shirt, you winced at the ugly, dark bruising along his ribs. You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Stay here, I’ll get you ice and some painkillers.”

“You’re the best,” he murmured, smile faded at the edges. “Thanks, babe.”

Making your way to the kitchen, you let a little bit of your power leak out. The cabinet with your various medications opened, a bottle of naproxen rolling out and onto the counter. Pleased with yourself, you closed the cabinet with a little flick of your finger and retrieved ice packs from the freezer. Carrying in the painkillers and ice packs with a bottle of water, you settled on the couch next to him. Jason wordlessly took each, pressing the ice packs to the bruises and swallowing three tablets. Sighing, he handed the water bottle to you and met your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish I could spend more time with you.”

“It’s okay,” you said. Smoothing his hair back and away from his face, you smiled. “I understand. It’s not like I haven’t been busy too. Between the training and getting ready for the new term, I haven’t been the most attentive, either.”

Jason leaned into the touch, eyes slipping closed. “I’m really proud of you, you know.”

“Oh?” You arched an eyebrow, continuing to comb your fingers through his hair.

“Yeah.” Opening one eye, he tried to smile but it ended up as more of a grimace. “You’ve been learning fast. And you just took all of this on without complaining once. Not even when Conner’s throwing you against the walls.”

“Oh, trust me, I want to complain when that happens.” You winced, a new bruise you’d gotten from a particularly nasty collision smarting. “But it’s important that I learn from them. Not just so I can help you, but so I can keep from hurting people.”

“I think he kind of enjoys throwing you around,” Jason grumbled. “Little asshole.”

“It’s just his way of teaching, Jason. And he’s an angry teenage boy. It’s good for him to have an outlet, even if that outlet just so happens to be tossing me around like a ragdoll.” You tilted his head down so you could press a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t be too hard on him. He’s helping in his own way.”

“I miss you,” he murmured. Slumping forward, you caught him, his face pressed to your neck. “I miss this.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Wrapping your arms tight around him, you tried to let your compassion for him radiate out and into his weary mind.

“You know when you punched Connor through that wall this morning?” His lips brushed against your skin as he spoke and you suppressed a shiver.

“I remember,” you said.

“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” His hands skimmed up your sides, heat radiating off of him. “I could’ve fucked you right there.”

“Oh,” you squeaked. It wasn’t the first time Jason had been bold with you, teased you to get a reaction. But there was an edge to his voice, a seriousness that had your heart racing. “I, um…”

“I thought about bending you over my desk while they all watched,” he growled into your skin. His teeth grazed over your pulse. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Jason…” Your breath hitched, his fingers sliding under your shirt. His gloves were still on, soft leather brushing over the fading bruises on your ribs, your back, your hip. “You’re injured.”

The ice pack fell onto your lap, his teeth sinking into the sensitive junction between your neck and your shoulder. Your head fell back, a soft moan working its way past your lips. “I don’t care.” His voice rumbled in his chest, fingers tightening on your hips. “I want you. I want you so bad.”

“You should rest,” you tried to protest. His fingers hooked into the collar of your shirt, yanking it down to expose more skin. Teeth and tongue marked the column of your neck and clavicle, making it hard for you to keep protesting. “If you aggravate your wounds—”

“It’s just bruising,” he said. His gloved fingers brushed over the fresh marks he’d left on your skin. “Please, let me have this. Let me have you.”

You knew you shouldn’t. He was exhausted, running on fumes and injured. Giving in would only make him worse, tire him out even more. This was just the last dregs of an adrenaline rush from fighting. But the drag of leather on your skin was making it hard to think straight, his breath on your skin driving you crazy. It was hard to resist. So, you gave in.

“Okay.” You knew you would regret it, folding under temptation so easily. “I’m yours, Jason.”

With a deep groan, Jason raised his head and crashed his lips against yours. Hungry, he was always so hungry when he kissed you. There was a very real urgency to this kiss, though. He dragged his teeth over your bottom lip, gripped the back of your head to tilt it just the way he wanted. There was a rush to the loss of control when he got rough, a release that had your pulse racing. Guiding your legs to wrap around his waist, he picked you up and stumbled towards the bedroom. Your back bumped against the walls, his knee colliding with the doorway in his rush to get you to the bed. Tossing you back on the bed, he watched with hooded eyes as you bounced on the mattress.

Peeling his compression shirt off all the way, Jason tugged at the fingers of his gloves with his teeth. The gesture had heat pooling in your core, your thighs clenching. Once both gloves were off, he crawled over you, hissing when you placed a gentle hand on his bruised ribs.

“Shh,” you hushed him. Your hand slid up and around to his back, nails digging into the skin. “You get off on the pain, don’t you?”

Jason growled, baring his teeth and pulling at your shirt. You lifted your arms to let him toss it away, his hands smoothing over your own bruises. Letting your arms fall above your head, you watched him as he sank his teeth into the swell of your breast. Hissing, you arched your back and pressed into him. He kissed the mark, moving down to your belly. His fingers fumbled at the button to your jeans, managing to get it open and your zipper down.

You hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your jeans, sliding them down and off. Jason tossed them as well, sliding back up your body. One hand closed over your wrists, pinning them above your head. For a split second, panic overwhelmed the arousal and your breath caught. But then he was kissing you again, grounding you in the moment. You clutched at his back, feeling the muscles flex and move under your fingers. Scraping your nails down his uninjured ribs, you sank your teeth into his lip. Not hard enough to break skin, but you knew you’d pressed his animal button.

The next thing you knew, your legs were thrown over Jason’s shoulders and his teeth were sinking into the soft skin of your inner thigh. Crying out, your hands flew to his head. His grip on your thighs was bruising, hot breath ghosting over your skin as he bit into a spot just above your hip next. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging as he laved his tongue over each new bite. His eyes met yours, his nostrils flaring as he pressed a kiss to a spot much closer to where you wanted his mouth to go.

“Use your words, princess,” he ground out. His teeth nipped at the band of your underwear. The man was going to drive you insane.

“Please,” you begged. Your voice was wrecked, high pitched and full of need. Jason had you right where he wanted you, pliant in his hands. “Jason, please… please, I need you…”

“Mm, since you asked so nicely.” His smile was all teeth, predatory and feral. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband, he maneuvered your legs to slide your underwear off. With a low rumble at the back of his throat, he dove in and plunged his tongue inside you.

“Oh god!” You screamed, thighs clenching around his head. Head thrown back against the pillows, your back arched as he ate you out like a man starved. You quickly devolved to babbling nonsense, a panting mess. When he scraped his teeth over your clit you jolted in the bed, tugging hard at his hair. It only egged him on, his fingers a vice around your thighs.

“Please,” you sobbed. “Please, Jason…. I’m… Oh fuck…”

Opening your eyes, you lifted your head to watch him. He licked a stripe over you before diving back in, one hand moving so that he could press his thumb to your clit. Tongue curling inside you, his eyes met yours. His pupils were blown, gaze searing. He hummed against you and just like that you fell apart. Your orgasm hit you hard and fast, your entire body tensing. A scream tore out of you, eyes slamming shut. Jason worked you through it, only pulling away once you had sagged and tugged at his hair.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he said. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, resting his head against your knee. “You tasted as good as I thought you would.”

Groaning, you carded your fingers through his hair gently. You were pretty sure you’d nearly ripped handfuls out at a couple of points. “Sorry if I hurt your scalp,” you murmured. Your whole body felt like it had melted into goo, a pleasant ache in your thighs.

“Trust me, I was enjoying it.” Grinning, he pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee. “You’re really sensitive, aren’t you?”

Flushing in embarrassment, you covered your face with your hands. “Oh god. It’s just been a while.”

“No, no!” He laughed, pulling your hands away from your face. “I like it. It just means I can have a lot of fun with you.”

“You really like giving, don’t you?” Still flushed, you twined your fingers with his. “You’ve never asked me to do anything for you.”

“Well,” he hummed, “that’s because I like getting people off more than getting myself off. I mean, both are fun. But seeing someone fall apart is rewarding, you know?”

Tugging at his hands, you pulled him back up so you could kiss him. Shivering at the taste of yourself on his lips and tongue, you let one of your hands wander down to the small of his back. “I think you deserve a reward for that,” you purred.

“Oh?” Jason’s smile turned devious as you hooked a thumb in his belt loops and gave a little tug. “And what exactly do you have in mind, princess?”

“Mm, whatever you want. I know it’s not the same as over your desk, but you could fuck me from behind,” you whispered. “Or maybe you want to take me on the coffee table. Or the kitchen counter. Maybe even in the shower.”

You felt the shiver that went down his spine. He’d been holding back for so long, you wanted him to chase his own pleasure for once. Slipping your hand down the back of his pants, you grabbed his ass and grinned.

“I’m yours, however you want me,” you said.

The switch in his eyes was visible that time. You saw it happen, the softness giving way to raw lust. Grabbing your jaw, he let his voice drop in pitch. “Hands and knees,” he growled.

Pushing his hand away, you obeyed automatically. Rolling over onto your stomach, you tucked your knees under you and lifted your ass in the air. You glanced over your shoulder, smirking at him. “Yes, sir.”

A snarl ripped out of him and before you knew it, he had landed a vicious slap to your ass. You yelped, weight rocking forward onto your arms. When he saw your wide eyes, the soft Jason came back.

“Oh, honey,” he said. His hand rested on your back, fingers shaking. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask—”

“It’s okay,” you breathed. “I… I think I like it.”

“Oh.” The two of you stared at each other, processing the situation. His hand slipped back to your ass, resting on the stinging spot where his blow had landed. “Are… you okay if I get a little rough with you?”

“Yeah.” Letting out a soft huff, you shifted your weight back onto your legs again. “Just nothing too extreme, you know?”

“Oh no, I don’t… Would it freak you out if I grabbed the back of your neck? Maybe got kind of rough with you during sex?” God bless him. You could clearly see the outline of his erection in his pants, but he was still negotiating with you.

“That’s fine, Jason. If I don’t like something, I’ll tell you to stop.” You smiled, wiggling your ass at him. “Now c’mon. Get rough with me.”

Switching back to his gruff persona, Jason squeezed your ass. Hard. His fingers dug into the flesh and you squealed, pressing your face into the pillow.

“You gonna make pretty sounds for me?” he asked. “Gonna be real good for me?”

You nodded, clutching at the pillows under your head. Jason smacked your ass again, just a little bit softer than the first hit. 

“Answer me,” he snarled.

“Yes, sir,” you panted. Looking back again, you watched him yank off his belt. He caught your eye as he pulled down the zipper and shoved his pants and underwear down.

Holy mother of god. You’d seen him get hard in his sweatpants and his jeans before, of course. Poor guy seemed to have a near Pavlovian response to seeing you bite your lip, even when you weren’t doing it consciously. But he was big, bigger than you’d estimated. His cock was thick too, a bit of precum already beading at the tip. Not bothering to kick off his boots or pull his pants off all the way, Jason reached for your nightstand.

“Middle drawer,” you said. “Fresh box at the front.”

Letting out a pleased hum, he gave your ass a gentle pat before opening the drawer as instructed. Taking out the box of condoms, he unfolded a row and tore one off. The box was tossed aside as he ripped the wrapper open with his teeth. You could see the excitement in his eyes, in the way his fingers shook as he rolled the condom on.

“Do you need any further prep?” he asked. The act had been dropped for the moment, courtesy and concern shining through once more.

You shook your head, pushing your hair back from your face. “No, I want it rough. Just… give me a second to get used to it before you go wild.”

“Of course.” Jason pressed a kiss to the base of your spine, positioning himself behind you. You could no longer crane your head back to see him without it hurting. You were, effectively, blind to whatever was going to happen. His hand pressed against your back, steadying and warm. “You ready?”

A nod was all it took. Jason thrust in all at once, thick and heavy and painful. You choked on air, fingers tightening on the pillow. You had to actually bite it, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. The oral had gotten you wet enough, but the stretch was the worst part. Breathing heavily, you pressed your face into the pillow. Jason stilled inside you, one hand on your hip and the other rubbing circles into the base of your spine. He was waiting, watching for your signal. After a few moments, you nodded again.

Pulling all the way out, Jason slammed back in, both hands gripping at your hips. You gasped, one hand going up to grasp the headboard. If you didn’t brace yourself, you weren’t convinced you wouldn’t end up slamming your head against the solid wood. The pace he set was brutal, fast and hard. The ache was still there, the burn fading but present. You bit your lip, nails scratching against the top of the headboard.

“You’re so tight,” Jason hissed. One of his hands pressed between your shoulder blades, effectively keeping you facedown on the bed and preventing you from trying to twist around and look. “Fuck.”

“Harder,” you gasped. You knew he was holding back, trying not to push you over that line. But the burn was only amplifying your arousal. A couple of tears rolled down your cheeks, landing on the pillow. “Fuck me harder.”

Jason cursed, bending over you and slamming into you at a punishing pace. You gasped, the thick slide of his cock, the burn of it making your blood simmer. It felt good. Pushing yourself up onto your elbows, you thrust yourself back onto him, taking him even deeper. Both of you moaned, and you reveled in the desperate little noises Jason made at the back of his throat. You’d never had someone fuck you from behind before, but you were pretty sure you liked it. A lot.

Snarling, he gripped you by the back of the neck. His fingers were careful not to squeeze over your windpipe. Instead, he shoved your face down into the pillows. His chest was flush against your back, breath heavy at your ear. The pace he set was for his own pleasure, brutal and punishing. You turned your head so you could breathe, his grip relaxing ever so slightly. His other hand pushed your bra up, squeezing at one of your breasts. His blunt nails tweaked your nipple and you moaned.

“You like that, huh?” Taking his hand from your neck, he grabbed both of your breasts, squeezing hard enough that it hurt. You cried out and felt his dick twitch inside you at the sound. “You like it rough, princess?”

“Yes,” you cried. “Yes!”

Tweaking your nipples hard one last time, he returned his hands to your hips as his thrusts began to stutter. He kept twitching inside you, his head dipping down to rest between your shoulder blades. You tightened around him and he made a strangled noise, slapping your hip. Jason was getting close. Turning as much as you could, you tried to catch your breath as he pounded into you.

“Jason… want to see you cum…” you panted, both hands now braced against the headboard.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned. Jason pulled out of you just long enough to flip you onto your back before he was back inside of you.

Wrapping your legs around him, you tangled your fingers in his hair. His brow was pinched, face flushed as he chased after his release. Sweat dripped from his brow, hair matted with it. You reached up and pushed the hair from his face. His eyes opened, glazed and unfocused.

“Cum for me, Jason,” you whispered.

Just like that, he came undone. Head falling forward onto your chest, he cried out as his hips stuttered. You hummed, feeling each twitch of him inside of you. After a few more shallow thrusts he finally fell still. Breathing heavily, Jason pressed a kiss over your heart.

“God,” he grunted. “I haven’t cum that hard in years.”

Laughing, you pulled his head up so you could kiss him. It was lazy and sloppy, but you didn’t mind. He pulled out with another grunt, pulling off the condom and tying it off. Pulling his pants back up, he shuffled out and you saw the light click on in the hall from the bathroom. He was back shortly after, fingers pressing gingerly against his bruised ribs.

“I think maybe I should have listened to you,” he said. His face was pinched in pain, and you sat up to pull him closer.

“I think that’s true,” you said. You shrugged off your bra (it was not comfortable sitting up on your collarbones) and kissed his shoulder. “Was it worth it?”

A dopey smile stretched across his face and he reached out to brush his knuckles over your cheek. “Very worth it. Once this case is over and there aren’t a bunch of other people in my warehouse,” he said, voice low, “I’m definitely fucking you on my computer desk.”

You laughed, catching his wrist and pulling him onto the bed with you. He followed, no resistance as you pulled him in for another kiss. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Listen,” he said. He cupped your face in his hands, a raw vulnerability on his face. “I just want to tell you, I l—”

His cellphone went off in his back pocket. Jaw clenching, you watched his anger go from 0 to 100 as he ripped the phone out of his pocket. “Fucking Grayson, this had better be good,” he muttered under his breath. After a deep breath, he answered. “What is it Dick, I’m a little busy.”

You couldn’t hear what Dick was saying, but you could hear the urgency in his voice. The color drained from Jason’s face and he pulled the phone back from his ear. Putting it on speaker, his voice shook when he spoke. “Say that again.”

“Fantasia has been compromised!” Dick’s voice was panicked. You weren’t sure how he knew your codename, but that was the least of your worries. Your eyes met Jason’s, gut twisting. “I repeat, Fantasia has been compromised. If you’re there, Jason, get her out right now! There’s a team—”

You didn’t catch the rest of what Dick was saying. The windows shattered and gas erupted in the room. Jason screamed your name and you tried to reach for him.

Then the whole world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i give you the smut, and then i give you the cliffhanger. i know i've been saying this for chapters now, but stuff GETS SUPER REAL next chapter. for real. i just can't let characters be happy lol
> 
> also, kids, this is NOT how you properly negotiate kinks. don't spank someone and then ask if it's ok. only dumbasses like these two would do that.
> 
> if you've read this far, thank you! comments and kudos are always appreciated.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a rescue is made and a life is taken
> 
> chapter warnings: suicide mention, torture, violence
> 
> _"my soul is tortured with love and lust and hate  
>  my cracked lips are unkissed for a million days  
> my infected heart, it's bleeding in this cage  
> i'm losing my dignity, not got long left to wait"_

_The rent was late again. The landlord was breathing down your neck. Your mother kept sending you letters, trying to get you to contact her. You hated your afterschool job. You had no friends._

_All in all, your life fucking sucked. You knew people who had it worse, of course. There was always someone who had it worse in Butcher’s Block. But you were reaching the end of your rope. A kid at school had supplied you with pills that helped numb you._

_You wanted to be numb forever. Maybe that was the thought that pushed you over the edge. That and the cheap whiskey. Stumbling to the bathroom of the party, you dug out the bottle. OxyContin. Hard stuff, you’d heard. But it only kept you numb for so long. Not long enough._

_You ripped the cap off. The little pills slid down your throat. You chased them with more whiskey. Music pounded outside the door. But that little bathroom was its own little universe for a few minutes. Then the pills kicked in. Everything went blurry. You lost your purse somewhere. You bumped into dancing teenagers, all of them unworried about you._

_It was when you got to the stairs that it really hit you. Your entire body seized up, brain turning to cotton fuzz. You didn’t feel the fall down the stairs. You didn’t hear the sirens. You didn’t hear the heart monitor go flat._

_But when the void spit you back out, you felt something._

_A deep, aching loneliness. And you had known that it would never go away._

\---

You woke up in a test chamber. Consciousness snapped back to you all at once, breath gasping and your fingers curling into the chair you’d been strapped to. Taking in your surroundings, you tried to remember what had happened up to that point.

_Tangled limbs, his head between your thighs, bruises on your hips. A panicked call. Gas, oblivion._

Pulling at the restraints, you grunted and twisted in the chair. Your wrists and ankles had been restrained with some kind of mechanism, another looping around your waist. Closing your eyes, you warded off the panic and reached down for your power. It started to come to you, warm and fizzing and—

Your nerves lit up in agony. A screamed ripped out of you, eyes going wide at the pain. It hurt worse than anything you’d ever felt. Like a thousand fires under your skin, burning forever and ever. Whimpering, you let your power fade back away. Slumping back in the chair, you blinked back the spots dancing in your vision.

Where were you? Who had taken you? Was it the traffickers, or was it one of the crime lords of Gotham? Eyes slipping closed, you forced your breathing to even out. An anxiety attack would only trigger another burst of power. Whoever had captured you had put some sort of collar around your neck. You guessed that it was an inhibitor, tuned to your brain waves and delivering a pain signal if you tried anything.

Forcing yourself to calm down, you walked yourself through the steps Jason had taught you in case of a situation like this. First you had to get a bearing on your location. The white walls and lack of windows didn’t clue you in on much. There was no noise in the chamber other than your own breathing, still rough and uneven. Glancing down, you took note of the jumpsuit someone had dressed you in. It was black, two white lines on the cuffs at the ankle and wrist.

Black Mask, maybe? Of all of the players, he’d be the most likely to want to get his hands on you. Jason—no, Red Hood had rained hellfire on him for years. If he’d caught wind of a girl, of course he’d act. So, if Black Mask had you, that meant one of two things. Either he was holding you hostage as a trap for Red Hood, or he meant to kill you and make a spectacle of it. Neither option was good.

You also couldn’t factor out the potential for the unknown trafficker to be your captor. With your metagene already activated, you would be a good tool for them. Just slap a mind control device on you and you’d be a walking weapon of mass destruction. Closing your eyes, you let out a long sigh. No matter what the situation was, you had to work quickly to get out of it.

The door hissed open. Jolting to attention, your eyes narrowed when two men stepped inside. You recognized one as Black Mask. Roman Sionis. His face appeared to have been melted to the bone, the whites of his eyes a sickly yellow. Next to him was another man you didn’t recognize. He was dressed well, some kind of device looped around the back of his head. Curling your hands into fists, you snarled at the two men.

“You’re sure this is the one who’s been working with the Hood?” Black Mask asked. He took a step closer, bending down and grabbing you by the chin. “She just looks… normal.”

“I assure you this is the one.” The other man kept a good distance from you. His accent was thick, but you couldn’t quite place it. “I believe she was using the name Fantasia. We had her scanned. Telekinetic, some minor empathy and postcognitive powers.”

“What level we looking at here?” Jerking your face up so he could get a better look at it, Sionis grimaced.

“Level one telekinesis. When the gas entered her system, her powers underwent a protective meltdown. Destroyed the building.” The foreign man looked quite pleased with himself. “With a control device, you’d have a walking weapon of mass destruction, Mr. Sionis.”

“Hm. Not a bad find. Could use a meta in my organization.” Sionis bent closer.

You spat right in his face. Reeling back, he wiped the spit from his cheek in horror. “Don’t fucking touch me,” you snarled.

The blow was expected, of course. But the back of his hand hit harder across your face than you’d thought. Your vision danced, blood trickling from a split lip. Your cheek stung and you had to blink back tears. Gathering every ounce of rage you had, you bared your bloody teeth at them both.

“Fuck you.” Your own voice sounded foreign to you, twisted by anger.

“Is that dog collar just there for show, Vertigo, or are you gonna do something about this?” Sionis snapped. He shook out his hand, and you took some small pleasure in the knowledge that his knuckles stung from the blow.

That pleasure morphed into searing pain as the foreign man pressed something on his phone. You tried to bite back a scream but couldn’t help it. Slumping forward, you tried to catch your breath. You blinked rapidly to keep the tears back.

“My apologies. She’s only just gained consciousness. We’ve been keeping her sedated for the past 12 hours.” The man called Vertigo slipped his phone back in his pocket, eyes cold as he looked you over. “We kept the control device off as you requested.”

You stared at him. A whole twelve hours had passed. Not only that, but you had destroyed your apartment. Had you killed Ragdoll? Had you killed Jason? Or had the people who captured you gotten to that first? Bile rose in your throat, bare toes curling against the cold metal floor.

Was anyone going to come for you? Or would you disappear without a trace?

“I appreciate that, Vertigo.” Black Mask shrugged off his coat, rolling up the cuffs of his dress shirt. “You mind giving me a few minutes with this one? The payment for her should come through soon.”

Vertigo inclined his head, retreating through the door. When it slid shut, you cut your eyes up at Black Mask. He was adjusting the rings on his left hand, pacing in front of you.

“Just got a few questions for you before we ship you out,” he said. “First one, where is Red Hood?”

“I don’t know.” You glared up at him. “For all I know he was killed during my capture.”

“Oh no,” Sionis snarled, “I promise you he wasn’t killed. Over the past 12 hours he’s killed all of my lieutenants. Your man is on a war path. Tell me where I can find him.”

Relief flooded your chest. Thank god, Jason was safe. If he was safe, you hoped he’d managed to get out with your cat, too. Your belongings could be replaced, but neither of them could. The relief was short lived. Grabbing your hair roughly, Black Mask yanked your head back and snarled.

“This is the last time I ask nicely, girl.”

Smiling hurt, but you couldn’t bring yourself to give a fuck. “Fuck you.”

Your nose cracked when the punch landed. The rings he wore were the worst part. They’d likely been the thing to break your nose. You gasped, blood gushing from your nose and down your throat as he yanked your head back again. Vision swimming, you tried to focus on his face.

“We’ll come back to that one. Second question, how many of my safe houses did you tell the Hood about?”

“None. Only thing I knew about you was that your empire was crumbling. Those fires probably cost you a lot, didn’t they?” You slurred.

The second blow was worse. This one landed just under your left eye, blurring your vision. You gasped, blood streaming down your face and world spinning.

“Third question. What do you know about Falcone and Cobblepot’s operations?”

“What?” You squinted at him, blood bubbling from your mouth when you laughed. “I don’t know anything. If you’re looking for answers, try looking around you. All three of you are in the same game. Probably a safe bet that they’re going to play hands similar to your own.”

Black Mask scowled down at you. He slammed your head back against the chair, making your ears ring. Then he landed a blow against your ribs. You felt them crack, giving under the blow. Slumping forward, you tried to breathe but found that it was much, much harder than before.

“You don’t know shit, do you?” he snarled. “So what, did Hood just keep you around to fuck? Were you his little psychic sex toy?”

“Fuck you.” You could barely even speak. Each breath burned, and no matter how many times you blinked, the darkness in your left eye wouldn’t clear.

“No, you were fucking him.” Buttoning his cuffs up again, Black Mask watched you. “Even if you don’t have information, you’re still of value. I’m sure once word goes out on the street that I have his little whore, he’ll come running.”

Rage gave you clarity. Baring your teeth, you jerked hard at your restraints, ignoring the pain and the dizziness. “If you hurt him,” you growled, “I will tear you apart limb from limb. There won’t be enough of you left to identify.”

Black Mask laughed, slipping his coat back on. “You know what, girl, I think I like you. Let’s see if you can follow through on that threat.”

The door opened and men in black suits filtered in, each with a mask mimicking Sionis’. You jerked away as they approached. The restraints retracted back into the chair and you tried to make a run for it. Two of them caught you, one slamming your face into the ground while the other bound your wrists behind you. You struggled as best you could, spitting and cursing. A third man ended up having to help pin you down. You’d managed to kick one of them in the ankle, biting the wrist of another. Black Mask himself hauled you off the ground by the back of your neck, marching you out of the room.

Wherever you were, it was Hell. Dozens of tubes lined the walls, each one containing a child. Some had morphed into less-than-human forms. You tried to memorize everything you say on the way out. The faces of the doctors, the names on the tubes, the read outs on the computers. If you got out of this alive, you were going to raze the place. You were shoved into the back of a van, Sionis getting in the passenger’s seat. Glaring at the back of his head, you finally spoke up.

“How did they find out about me?” you asked.

“It was my men who did, actually.” Sionis didn’t bother turning to face you. “When the Hood drove through Gotham with a haywire telekinetic, it caught our attention. A little surveillance was all it took. Kind of disappointed he didn’t catch on.”

You didn’t respond, turning to glower out the window. You were still in Gotham, but you didn’t know exactly where. Maybe the eastern district? You couldn’t say for certain. You were still having trouble seeing out of your left eye.

“But you know,” Sionis said, “I guess the old saying is true. Love makes fools of us all, doesn’t it?”

You said nothing, nails digging into your palms. All you could do was pray that Jason didn’t take the bait.

\----

“I don’t care if it’s a trap,” Jason Todd roared. “I’m going to get her.”

Dick glanced over at Damian. The boy had been silent since they first met to discuss the new intel that had just happened to drop right into their laps. He sharpened his sword, likely blocking out all distractions.

“You can’t just storm in there,” Bruce argued. “They know you’re going to come for her. We need to play this smart.”

“We don’t know how much time she has left,” Jason said, voice breaking. He’d been on a rampage since she’d been taken. An eye for an eye, everything Sionis loved for the one person who made Jason feel whole. “Bruce, I appreciate that you want to be careful. But she’s already been gone fifteen hours.”

He blamed himself. He hadn’t gotten to her in time. The gas hadn’t knocked him out, but he hadn’t made her the priority. Instead, he’d grabbed the cat and run when the building began to shake.

_Idiot. Useless. Can’t even protect her._

Rage was the only thing that was keeping him going. If Jason stopped, if he calmed down, he feared that he would break. He’d been helpless to stop the men who dragged her out of the apartment. He had failed her the time she needed him the most.

“Stop blaming yourself.” Dick spoke up, placing a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “You did what any of us would have. Get out of the building, find the threat.”

“Don’t touch me.” Jason shoved Dick away, snarling. “I don’t need your bullshit right now.”

“Spoiler and Batgirl are both out following the trail,” Bruce said. “We need to wait for them to get back to us. Once we know what we’re up against, we can plan accordingly.”

“Fuck that.” Jason jabbed a finger at the older man, bristling. “I appreciate that you’re sending all your little soldiers to do your dirty work, Bruce. But it doesn’t mean shit. Black Mask told us where she is. He invited me. I’m going and I’m putting him down for good.”

“I’m going with Todd.” Damian spoke up finally, sheathing his sword and standing up. “Odds are better with two of us.”

“Damian,” Bruce warned.

“I am going, Father. I have failed Fantasia in the past. The least I can do is visit the Demon’s wrath on the men who took her.” Turning to Jason, he folded his arms over his chest. “We should head out, Todd. The sooner the better.”

Jason nodded, turning away from Dick and Bruce and striding to his motorcycle. Neither man made a move to stop him. Damian retrieved his bike as well, revving it and heading out ahead of him. Bottling up his rage, Jason gunned it.

If he didn’t get to her in time, he was determined to tear Gotham apart brick by brick in retribution.

\----

For the next four hours, you floated in and out of consciousness. You’d been forced to drink something, no doubt laced with sedatives or some other twisted drug to bend you to Sionis’ will. Black Mask had gone about his day as usual, holding meetings with his new lieutenants and making business deals while you laid, bound and gagged, on his desk. Time seemed to slow down and speed up, twisting and turning and fading like the rest of the world around you. You weren’t entirely lucid and wondered several times if you were just hallucinating Sionis hovering over you, watching you.

After four hours, Sionis finally spoke to you. His voice faded in and out but managed to be audible regardless. “I know you’re pretty out of it right now, but it looks like your little boyfriend came for you after all. He brought the nasty Robin with him, too. So, here’s where things get fun.” He produced a remote from his pocket, waving it in front of your face. “That little dog collar isn’t just a power dampener. There’s a fun setting on it where if I dose you with the right drug, you can use your powers. But only if you listen to what I say. Neat, isn’t it?” Walking around to face you, he grinned. “You get to kill the two Bat brats. And you’ll be aware of what you’re doing the entire time.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you finally let the tears you’d been holding back fall. Curling in on yourself, you sobbed into your gag as Sionis sat down behind his desk and waited.

Jason was first through the door. Or rather, the body he threw in was first and he followed it. Robin was behind him, sword dripping with blood. You turned your face away, cries muffled.

“What the hell did you do to her?” Jason roared. It was the angriest you’d ever heard him. Blood was splattered over his helmet, staining his gloves and body armor. He’d ditched the jacket at some point. He was breathing heavily, likely from a mix of rage and exertion.

“Nothing much,” Black Mask said. He stayed behind his desk, even as Jason stalked towards him, pistols raised. “Ah, I wouldn’t come much closer. You see, your little girlfriend isn’t feeling too great. In fact, she might just forget who she’s supposed to be fighting.”

The collar tightened around your neck and you screamed as a needle pierced your neck. You felt an immediate wave of nausea, moaning and struggling against your bonds. Vision cloudy, you only just made out Robin’s silhouette approaching from the side. Black Mask raised the remote and pressed a button.

After so many hours of emptiness, your power came roaring back into your veins. It almost hurt, boiling in your veins. Focusing it on your hands, you flexed, the zip ties around your ankles and wrists popping open. Fighting a wave of dizziness, you tried to sit up, reaching for the gag. You had to tell them about the collar.

“Oh no, naughty girl,” Black Mask crooned. “Why don’t you leave that in?”

You froze, fingers grasping desperately at thin air but unable to move any further. Panic rose, hot and sudden, but even with that you could not make yourself move. Jason and Robin watched from their respective positions. Feeling for Jason’s aura, you brushed up against it. He jolted, but you kept your eyes on the ground.

_Not in control. Not in control. Not in control. Collar. Remote. Collar. Remote. Not in control._

You pushed as hard as you could, shoving the words across the light contact. You had no idea if they reached him. At this point, all you had was hope.

“Sweetheart,” Sionis said, “why don’t you show Red Hood how much you missed him?”

Horror took hold of you as you launched yourself at Jason. Power fizzled in your fist, and he just managed to dodge as you put your whole arm through the safe that he’d been standing in front of. You yanked it back out, whirling around and sending out a pulse of energy. It connected and he slammed into Robin, both of them collapsing in a heap on the floor. Breathing heavily, you tried to enter the meditative trance Raven had taught you. Maybe you could gain control back. But your body was already moving, rushing the two of them. Jason grunted in surprise when your fist connected with his helmet, shattering a portion. Staggering, he wavered. Robin, on the other hand, did not.

The boy swung his blade, and you managed dodge it. Holding your hands up, you let your power slip over you like a second skin. When the sword did land just above your hip, it bounced uselessly off of you. Leaping away, Robin sheathed his sword and regrouped with Jason.

“You know, I thought she was just a pretty thing you kept for fun, but it looks like someone trained her,” Sionis said. He’d kicked his feet up on his desk.

“You fucking—” Jason fired.

Before you knew what was happening, you’d thrown yourself in front of Black Mask. Your shield had slipped and the bullet caught you in the shoulder. Crying out in pain, you stumbled back, catching yourself on the desk. Jason froze, finger still on the trigger. Through the crack in his helmet, you could just make out one of his eyes. That flash of green met your own gaze, and he lowered the gun. Sliding to the floor, you watched blood drip from your fingers. You couldn’t lift your arm at all.

“Such a shame. I’d hoped to keep her around for longer. Fantasia, kill them.” Black Mask yawned.

Breath heavy and strained, you pushed yourself to your feet. You didn’t want to do this. You couldn’t do this. This wasn’t how you wanted it to end. Maybe Jason would show mercy and put you down before you had his blood on your hands. But you knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t. He’d let himself die before he killed you. Biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood, you rushed them one last time.

Robin was there to meet you. He raised his sword and you moved to block it with your hands, power concentrated in your palms so you could catch it. Just as the sword connected, he took you by surprise and slashed you across the face with a batarang in his other hand. It cut deep into your cheek and across the bridge of your nose and you screamed. The gag had been cut clean in half. You caught his gaze, a triumphant little smirk that was all too familiar on his face. Falling back, you screamed at Jason.

“Shoot the remote!”

He didn’t hesitate. With one perfect shot through Black Mask’s hand, the device shattered. A wave of nausea swept through you and you fell onto your hands and knees, vomiting up all the foul chemicals they’d forced into you. Robin was at your side in an instant, popping open the collar and messing with the wiring. Once he’d snipped a couple of wires, you felt it loosen around your neck. Coughing up the last of the bile that had caught in your throat, you glanced at him.

“You have a lot of explaining to do, Damian Wayne,” you wheezed.

Jason stormed past you, mind set on one thing and one thing only. Black Mask had scrambled back and out of his seat but he was there already, grabbing Sionis by the back of the head and smashing it into his desk. You winced, letting Robin help you to your feet. Jason smashed the man’s face against the desk one, two more times. Then his hands went around Sionis’ throat, a feral snarl rising in his throat.

“No,” you coughed out.

And just like that, Jason Todd reigned himself in. It amazed you, made your heart swell. The rage was still there, written in the way he held his shoulders, the shaking in the hands around Black Mask’s throat.

“He hurt you,” Jason snarled. “I’m going to kill him.”

“No.” You took a few shuffling steps in his direction. Then Robin was there again, helping you walk over. “Jason, let him go.”

Another rumbling growl came from him, but he did as you said. Black Mask gapsed for air, looking between you. “I see,” he coughed. “He’s your dog, not the other way around.”

“Do you remember what I said to you in that room?” you asked. You kept your voice even. “What I would do if you hurt him?”

Black Mask’s face fell. Your power surged and you shoved your hand straight through his chest, fingers wrapping around his still-beating heart. He stared at you in horror. You squeezed.

“I changed my mind. I want them to know I’m coming.”

Black Mask’s heart exploded in your hand. You pushed at his body, letting it fall to the ground. Breathing heavily, you turned to Jason. He was frozen in place, staring down at the body of one of Gotham’s most vicious crime lords. Placing your bloody hand on his chest, you leaned against him.

“I think I need to change my codename,” you murmured.

Catching you around the waist as your legs gave out, he lowered you to the ground. Robin appeared on your other side, frowning as he inspected your face. “It looks like a fractured nasal bone, as well as potential fractures to the zygomatic and lacrimal bones. The swelling around her eye is not good.”

“I can’t see out of it,” you said. “I think I have broken ribs, too.”

“Unfortunately, the wound I gave you may scar,” Robin said. He pulled bandages out of his utility belt, pressing one over the wound on your face and ripping open the sleeve of the jumpsuit to press the other to the bullet wound. “I am sorry for that.”

“If you hadn’t, I might have killed you. I’ll take a scar in exchange for keeping both of you alive.” You tried to smile, but it hurt too much. Instead, you let your head rest on Jason’s shoulder. “I know where the kidnapped kids are. And I know who has them. I can show you and—”

Jason cut you off, slamming his lips against yours in a painful kiss. It aggravated your split lip, but you didn’t push him away. You weren’t sure when he’d taken off his helmet. Damian made a disgusted sound at the back of his throat. Pulling away, Jason ignored the boy and gently brushed your hair back from your face.

“I thought I lost you,” he said. “I fucked up. I ran with the cat and left you in there. They took you because I made the wrong decision.” Voice wavering, he laced his fingers through yours. “I was so afraid I’d lost you.”

“I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m not okay. But I’m here. And once you get me to a doctor, I’m going to tear the trafficking operation apart with my own bare hands.”

“We will take you to Penny-one. Todd, can you carry her out?” Robin stood, pulled his hood up over his head. “I will cause a distraction.”

“Right.” Shifting back into vigilante mode, Jason put his helmet back on. Carrying you bridal style, he waited until Robin made a lot of noise before running down back passages with you. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. A sudden wave of exhaustion hit you, and you started to close your eyes. He jostled you, muttering under his breath. “Don’t go to sleep on me, okay? You’ve lost a lot of blood. I need you to stay awake.”

“I’m so tired Jason.” Your voice slurred, the world going syrupy around you. “Just a quick nap.”

“No.” Making sure you were secure on the back of his bike, he wrapped your arms tightly around his torso before he took off. “No, stay awake for me. Can you do that? Just keep your eyes open. Talk to me.”

“I dreamed while they had me sedated,” you murmured. You knew he could not hear you over the roar of the engine. “I dreamed of when I died. I was so young. But I was so sure that I couldn’t keep going. I took so many pills.”

Forcing your eyes to stay open, you pressed your ear to his back and counted each heartbeat. Gotham streaked by in a dark blur, the only thing that mattered being your confession and Jason’s heartbeat. “I was so stupid. It felt like I was going nowhere and I was just some drunk, stupid kid. People found me because I fell down the stairs leaving the party. My heart stopped in the ambulance. I was dead for just under a minute before one of the EMTs resuscitated me. I don’t remember what his name was. But I died and I came back, and I knew I had to do better. I couldn’t keep coasting. But it still found a way to haunt me. I just wanted to be normal.”

Taking a sharp turn, Jason sped past strange shortcuts and you soon found yourself entering a dark tunnel. The motorcycle slowed and stopped in a huge cavern. There was a giant dinosaur, and a giant penny, and the Batmobile. You were in the Batcave. Jason picked you up, running over to a familiar face. Alfred. How long had it been since you’d seen him? It felt like a lifetime.

“Hollowpoint to the right shoulder,” Jason said as he laid you out on an examination table. It seemed so familiar. “Facial bone fractures on the left side of her face, multiple broken ribs. High blood loss, I can provide a bag for any further transfusion.” His fingers ghosted over the bandage on your nose. “Deep laceration across left cheekbone and nose bridge. They pumped her full of drugs, not sure what.”

“I will begin operating to extract the bullet fragments first.” Alfred was as calm as ever, and you rolled your head to look at him. Shirt sleeves rolled up, he was slipping on nitrile gloves. “Go see if Master Dick is still here, he can help with drawing blood. Master Bruce will run toxicology while I operate. Where is Master Damian?”

“Should be right behind us. He provided a distraction so I could extract her.” Jason’s fingers laced with yours, squeezing. “Alfred… I’d like to stay with her.”

“Very well then,” he said. Fingers probed at your injured shoulder and you bit back a scream. “Master Bruce, do you mind fetching two pints of O- to begin transfusion.”

“On it, Alfred.” You couldn’t see Bruce, but you could hear him.

“Administering local anesthetic.” You felt the sting of a needle in your shoulder, followed by a rolling numbness that reached the tips of your fingers on your right hand. “Please focus on taking deep breaths, dear.” Alfred placed a comforting hand on your forehead. Then he went to work.

“Hey, look at me.” Jason squeezed your other hand and you turned your gaze to him. He’d ditched his helmet, dragged a chair over to sit next to you. “You’re going to be okay.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself,” you said.

“I am. Honestly, you don’t look too great right now.” He dusted a kiss over your knuckles. “I need to convince myself that you’ll be okay so I don’t lose my mind.”

“Well, in that case, I’m going to be okay.” You squeezed his fingers. “You saved me, I’m okay.”

“No, sweetheart.” The adoration in his eyes was overwhelming. Your heart clenched. “You saved yourself. I was just along for the ride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time to dismantle a trafficking ring, y'all!! only two more chapters to go. we're almost there. 
> 
> if you've read this far, thank you so much! comments and kudos are always appreciated.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a new name is adopted and the raid commences
> 
> chapter warnings: brief suicide mention, discussion of Jason's death, violence
> 
> _"heartache to heartache  
>  i'm your wolf, i'm your man  
> i say run little monster  
> before you know who i am"_

Recovery was coming far too slow for your taste. Alfred had extracted all of the bullet fragments from your shoulder, but a week later movement in your right arm was still limited. Realistically, you had known that it would take a while. It was nothing short of a miracle that you hadn’t spent longer confined to your sick bed in the manor. But a fire had been lit in you that you knew couldn’t be extinguished. Maybe it was all those children, unable to comprehend what was happening to them. Maybe it was frustration with your injuries. Or maybe it was something ugly inside of you that had been unlocked when you had taken a life.

The second you had been able to get out of bed, no one was able to get you back in. Even with your right arm in a sling and your vision still unrecovered in your left eye, you refused to rest. With all of the new resources at your fingertips you refused to let anyone take the case out of your hands. You had seen the facility. You had lived the horror of having control ripped from your hands. No man would keep you from finding retribution for it.

Jason and Dick had pushed back the hardest. Both had tried to keep you tucked safely away in your room, placating you with little snippets of information. But you refused to be sidelined. Jason was worried about you being severely injured again. Dick was worried you would be killed or have a flashback. You told them both to shove their opinions up their asses.

Bruce had surprised you by supporting your involvement in the planned raid. Since all their secret identities had been revealed to you (and you had felt extreme embarrassment at your prior comments about Nightwing to Dick’s face), he had stepped into your corner. Perhaps it was out of the practical fact that having a meta on the team would make the job easy. Maybe he saw the fire in your eyes and decided it was better to feed it instead of extinguishing it. Either way, he had kept you in the loop with any and all information. It had become common place for him to come to your room and sit next to the bed, reviewing intel with you.

The discussion of what your new codename would be had been fraught. Jason had resisted contributing with the mindset of wanting to keep you from danger. Dick had wanted to keep you out of becoming more involved with their family business, valuing your normal life. Bruce, Stephanie, Barbara, and Tim had all wanted you to take a codename that fit within their family theme. Damian had wanted you to remain nameless, a masked shadow who relied on nothing more than word of mouth. In the end, you had settled on one that felt like a blend of the two concepts.

 _Shrike_. A carnivorous bird that looked innocent enough until it impaled its prey and tore it to pieces. The name seemed fitting. In the end, all of them had come around. When you had told Jason that the bird’s family name, Laniidae, derived from the Latin word from “butcher,” he had quietly come around to it.

Of course, his acceptance of your becoming a member of their vigilante family had come with caveats. If you wanted to continue to be active after taking down the trafficking operation, he had to be with you. You were only to operate under his supervision and you had to avoid well-known and vicious criminals.

“Does that mean we get to go on dates where we beat people up?” you had joked.

Jason had found it less funny and launched into a long lecture about how quickly situations could go south. Bruce, of all people, had stepped in to stop him.

Once the stitches were removed after a week and a half, you were in the Batcave and being fitted for a suit. Alfred remained quiet while he took your measurements. Jason had refused to be there. Bruce sat and watched the process.

“I think it would be best to go with dark colors on the suit,” he said. He’d drawn up schematics and tapped into Wayne Enterprise tech to find materials that would boost your telekinetic fields. “No cape.”

“I want a mask that covers the bottom half of my face,” you said. You’d lifted your arms to your side so Alfred could measure your bust. “I don’t know what fancy tech you put in the eye masks, but I don’t want to obscure the vision in my left eye more.”

“Noted.” Bruce made a note on his tablet. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Glancing at the new costume Jason had made, you grinned. “I want a hood.”

\---

Perched on the roof of an abandoned building, you closed your eyes and centered yourself. Losing focus could be the difference between losing a fight and winning it. Jason crouched next to you, glowering at the building you would be infiltrating. With the new mask he’d chosen it was hard to catch most of his expressions. But you knew the pinch to his brow and the angle of his shoulders suggested extreme annoyance. Reaching out, you gave his shoulder a light punch.

“Don’t look so grim,” you said. Through the mask concealing the lower part of your face, your voice came out muffled. The coms hadn’t been turned on yet, and you wanted to take advantage of your relative privacy to talk to him. “We’ve been over the plan a million times with Br—Batman.” You caught yourself. “It’s going to be fine.”

“It’s not the plan I’m worried about.” Turning to face you, he pulled down the red hood he’d added to the costume. A clever touch, you’d thought. “I’m worried about you.”

Not again. You sighed, pulling down your own hood and resting your elbows on your knees. “I’m fine. Most of the injuries I had are healed. Besides, I’ve got you and Dick as backup.”

“I don’t know if you fully realize how dangerous this is.” He took your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles. Through the fingerless gloves you wore, you could barely feel the touch. “You don’t have the same training we do. If someone sneaks up on you—”

“They won’t.” Scooting closer to him, you tugged your mask down to hang around your neck. “You sure seem worried for someone who routinely throws himself into firefights without a plan.”

“That’s different.” Jason’s hand came up to brush over the scabbing wound across your nose and cheek. “I’ve come back from it.”

“What do you mean?”

Jason took a deep breath. Turning away from you, he stared out at the horizon, a full moon hanging low in the sky. “When I was 15, I died.”

“I… what?” The world ground to a halt at his words. You stared at him, eyes wide.

“Batman and I were on a mission overseas. I was… I was tracking down my birthmother. The Joker captured me. Tortured me, beat me with a crowbar. Then he blew up the building I was in. Batman showed up too late to save me.” Jason wrung his hands, gaze dropping to his feet. “Damian’s grandfather threw me into something called a Lazarus Pit. It brought me back to life, but I was… I was different. For the first few years, my mind was broken. Shattered into a million pieces. I learned how to kill, dedicated myself to revenge. For a long time I was barely even human. Sometimes I think I’m just a ghost, nothing more. But I came back from it. Nothing could keep me in the grave.”

You weren’t sure what to say. You remembered the painting you’d made that first night, the blood and flames. It made you sick to your stomach. No wonder he had waited so long to tell you. No wonder he kept it buried. You had committed suicide. He had been tortured and murdered. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you leaned into him. His arm looped around your waist almost out of instinct.

“We both died and we both came back from it. What we’re about to do is nothing compared to what we’ve been through. What I went through with Black Mask.” Taking his other hand in both of yours, you pressed it to your chest, his palm over your heart. “Even if I die, it won’t keep me from you. They could bury me face down and I’d still find my way back to you. So, don’t be afraid. We’ll be okay. And I’ll always have your back.”

Unable to kiss you with his mask on, Jason pressed his forehead to yours instead. His hand remained on your chest, your heartbeat steady. Once he’d centered himself, he drew back, standing up and pulling his hood up.

“Then let’s go kick some ass, Shrike.”

Pulling your mask up, you stood as well. “Couldn’t ask for a better partner, Red Hood.”

You looped your arms around his neck as he pulled you to him, grappling the two of you to the ground. Simulating flight was something you had yet to master, and the idea of breaking every bone in your body was not a pleasant one. Pulling your hood up, you motioned for him to wait. You pulled a container of oil paint from your belt. Dipping three fingers in, you closed your eyes and dragged the paint across your face from one temple to the other. Tucking the paint back away, you grinned at him.

“Can’t be a shrike without the black mask.”

His laugh was soft. Quieting back down, you both made your way towards the compound. Vertigo and his men had set up in an old Ace Chemicals production plant, abandoned over a decade prior. With all of the activity in the underground levels, they’d been able to hide their presence. Moving quickly and carefully towards the building, you froze when Jason held up a hand. He pointed and you caught sight of a security drone. Without streetlights and painted black, it had melted into the darkness. Lifting your left hand, you concentrated on the silent machine. Power fizzling in your fingers, you made a fist. The drone crumpled, falling out of the sky. Jason motioned to your ear, both of you tapping your comms.

“Watch for drones,” he whispered. You could barely hear him next to you, but his voice came clear through your earpiece. Oh, the wonders of Wayne tech. “Shrike took one out of commission.”

“Two spotted on my end.” Dick said. A blur of motion caught your eye. Neon blue stood out against the darkness and you watched as Dick vaulted up onto a fire escape with an ease you envied. “Going in through the front.”

“Copy.” Damian followed Dick, grappling up onto the roof and landing with a predator’s grace.

“Copy that. Maintaining air support.” Bruce had not let you see the jet he was currently hovering over the area in ( _a fucking jet of all things_ ), but it eased your nerves knowing he was ready to jump in at a moment’s notice. “Batgirl, Penny-one, are you tracking?”

“Everyone’s present and accounted for on our end.” Barbara said. “Red Robin is monitoring camera feeds.”

“Shrike and Red Hood, you are clear to proceed. I’ve taken down the other drones via the security system.” Tim said.

“Copy that,” you said, nervous excitement bubbling in your chest. Never in a million years would you have expected to go on a mission with costumed vigilantes as a costumed vigilante yourself.

Nodding to you, Jason led the way to the basement entry. It had been one of the best discoveries Tim had made when he’d downloaded blueprints of the building the day prior. Throwing caution to the wind, you hopped down the hatch first. It was a short fall and you moved aside to allow Jason to join you. Relying on the night vision he’d installed in his mask-goggle things, you hooked a finger through Jason’s belt and followed him through the passage. You weren’t sure how long it had been since anyone had been in this part of the building. The sickly smell of rot and decay filled your nose, even through the thick fabric of the mask.

“Watch your entry, Hood.” Tim’s voice came through the comms as loud and clear as if he was right next to you. “I’m seeing activity near your breach point.”

“Copy.” Drawing a pistol from the holster at his thigh, Jason paused for a moment before pushing open the grate in front of him. “Shrike, hold positon.”

“Copy.” You let go of his belt, watching as Jason swung out of the passage and landed silently. Screwing on a silencer, he moved out of your line of sight. Crouching at the edge of the passage, you waited until you heard two heavy thuds before poking your head out. Two guards lay at Jason’s feet, darts in each of their necks. “All clear?” you asked.

“All clear.” Holstering the gun, Jason extended a hand to you. “Keep close, keep quiet.”

Nodding, you slipped out of the passage. Your landing was louder and much less graceful than Jason’s. Shaking it off, you took his hand. Keeping his fingers laced with yours, he led you through a maze of corridors, pausing at each corner to check around it before proceeding. After a few minutes of navigating, you reached the edge of the floor. Below was the main floor. There were even more pods than you had seen, more children taken and experimented on.

“Nightwing, Robin, what are your positions?” You kept your voice even. You had to tuck the rage away, save it and store it until you could properly unleash it.

“In position on the ground.” Dick said. “You ready, Shrike?”

Oh, you were ready. You had been ready from the moment Black Mask first struck you. The rage had only been building steadily with each passing moment. Even though you weren’t highly trained, you were ready. Stepping up to the very edge of the platform, you took a deep breath.

“I’m ready.”

“Deploying protocol now.” Red Robin said.

In the blink of an eye the facility went from functioning to crippled. The bright lights powered off, the tubes the children had been kept in powering down and opening. All around the spacious room, black goo spilled onto the floor. Dozens of children laid on the floor, coughing and choking and crying. You felt Jason’s hand at the small of your back. Red lights flashed, illuminating the room in a hellish glow intermittently.

“Ready to unleash hell?” he asked.

“Let’s show them what fear is,” you growled.

Leaping off the platform, you landed on a guard who had rushed into the room. Crumpling under your weight, his gun went skidding across the floor. You worked quickly, using his own cuffs to lock his hands behind his back.

“Shrike, hostile to your left!” Nightwing called in the comms.

Still crouched, you turned to find a guard leveling his weapon at you. The lights flashed, casting you in a red glow. Fear carved itself into his face. Not that you could blame him. Your uniform was all black, from the hood to the soft soled boots. The colored contacts you’d put in before leaving the cave were a bright red. With no insignia emblazoned across your chest, you looked like a shadow come to life. The moment passed and the guard sighted you before firing.

Raising a hand, you deflected the round. He kept firing until you sent a round ricocheting into his knee. He went down with a pained yell. To your right you could hear Jason taking out other guards, swift and fast. Getting to your feet, you walked over and kicked the gun out of your guard’s reach. Clenching your hand into a fist, you used your power to constrict his airway until he fell unconscious.

“More hostiles coming in hot, guys.” Barbara reported. You could hear her feverishly typing in the background. “Nightwing, get those kids out of there.”

“On it already, Batgirl.” Looking over, you watched Dick and Damian wrangling the kids. “Batman, you ready at the extraction point?”

“Ready for extraction,” Bruce said.

Catching movement out of the corner of your eye, you hissed as a guard ran for the kids. Launching yourself at him, you tackled him to the ground. The two of you went down hard. He recovered fast, fist connecting with your jaw. You grunted, pinning his arm under your knee. Although he was stronger than you, it didn’t matter in the end. Gathering power in your fist, you punched him hard in return. His head snapped to the side and he went limp under you. Alarms continued to blare as Robin and Nightwing led the kids out of the space and down the hall towards the back entrance. Bruce would be waiting there with the jet. Once they were in the air, you and Jason were on your own. Patting down the guard, you tucked the sheathed knife from his boot into the back of your belt.

“Shrike, eyes up!” Jason yelled.

Three other guards had entered the room. All of them had semi-automatic rifles aimed at you. Slowly, you raised your hands. Let them think you were defeated. Let them think they had bested you. Jason was slipping around the side. With their attention on you, he could get the jump from behind. But you weren’t going to let him do all the work. Power fizzling, you threw your hands forward. A tank ripped itself out of the ground and flew over your head, colliding with the three guards and knocking them to the ground. Jason rolled out of the way, quick to put darts in the two that weren’t knocked cold by your attack.

“Good work, Shrike.” Although you knew he was trying to keep it professional, there was an edge to his voice that you’d heard before. Of _course_ Jason was getting turned on during a fight.

Nodding, you surveyed the room. “Batgirl, Penny-one, any movement our way?”

“None at the moment, Shrike,” Alfred said. “But may I suggest planting the incendiary devices quickly? The facility is on high alert and there will be more coming your way soon.”

“Copy that.” Making his way over to you, Jason slung the pack Dick had stashed near their entry point down. The bombs inside would be remotely deployed and posed no threat at the moment, but you still blanched at the sight of them. Jason tapped his comm off, picking up several of the devices. You turned off your comm as well. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Just… kind of surreal, I guess.” Crouching down next to him, you picked one up, weighing it in your hand. “After so much time spent planning, it’s weird for everything to go down so quickly.”

“That’s pretty typical. When fights go down, everything happens pretty quickly. You take the west side, I’ll cover the east.” Standing up after scooping several more of the bombs out, he handed the pack to you. “Be careful.”

“I will.” Tapping your comm back on, you gave his bicep a quick squeeze before turning away. Two bombs went on the west side of the room, one on a control console. Heart pounding, you headed down a corridor to the holding cells.

Other than the alarms, it was silent. Whoever had been in the area had abandoned it. Evacuation had likely begun, the facility no longer secure. You placed two more bombs against opposing walls. Just as you were digging out a third, you heard Jason cry out in your comms.

“Ja—Red Hood?” Your anxiety spiked. Ditching the devices, you ran back down the corridor. “Red Hood, do you copy?”

Jason did not respond. Pushing yourself to move faster, you vaulted over a desk and turned down another corridor. “Someone tell me his location, please!” you yelled. With the bottom of your boots slick with the goo from the tanks, you skidded when you took a turn and slammed into the wall. You took the impact on your bad shoulder, pain rendering you breathless for one second.

“Head down the hall to your right,” Alfred instructed. “Take another left.”

“Thank you,” you grit out, clutching your shoulder as you followed the instructions.

Stumbling into the room, you skidded to a halt. The Vertigo guy from the holding cell was pressing a hand to his temple. Jason was curled up at his feet, groaning in pain. Anger blossomed red hot in your chest at the sight. You slipped the knife from its sheath and charged. The blade sank into his left side and he cried out. His power shut off as he stumbled and caught himself against a control panel. Ignoring him for the time being, you dropped to your knees next to Jason.

“Are you okay?” You were breathing heavily from both the running and adrenaline, fingers shaking as you clasped his face in your hands. “Red Hood, can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he groaned. Coughing, he slowly pushed himself up to his hands and knees. “Penny-one, we have Count Vertigo as company. Delay detonation.”

You helped Jason to his feet, guiding him to lean on you as he got his balance back. Bruce had briefed you on Vertigo and his powers. For the next minute or so, Jason was going to be rattled and mostly out of commission.

“You are the woman I sold to Black Mask, aren’t you?” Vertigo spoke up, yanking the knife out and glaring at you. “I heard that you killed him.”

“I wanted to send a message.” Once Jason was steady on his feet, you stepped in front of him. “When you came for Red Hood, you brought this on yourself.”

Vertigo lunged for you. Grunting, you managed to catch his wrist. The blade of the knife hovered a breath away from your chest. You heard Jason draw his gun and snapped at him.

“No,” you growled. “He’s mine.”

To your surprise, Jason backed down. He must have heard the rage in your voice or read it in your movements. Vertigo had come for you, so you were going to be the one to take vengeance. Slipping your foot behind him, you shoved him backwards as you swept his feet out from under him. His fingers caught on your hood and you went down on top of him. Scrambling for the upper hand, you pinned one of his wrists with your knee as he landed a blow to your sternum. Fighting through the pain, you wrested the knife from his fingers. He grabbed at your jaw with his free hand, squeezing hard. Snapping your head out of his grip, you brought your other knee down on his stomach, leaning all of your weight there. He spluttered and punched at your ribs. You weathered the blows, rage boiling over. The lights above you shattered, raining glass down on you. The red lights of the alarms continued to glow as you placed a hand on his throat and squeezed.

“Did you know,” you said, “that shrikes are one of the most vicious birds in the world? They look harmless, but they’re fiercely territorial. They don’t just impale bugs to eat, either. Shrikes hunt prey as big as they are, too. They swoop down on mice and other birds and pinch the nerves in the prey’s neck to paralyze it. Then they thrash their head so hard the prey’s neck snaps. It’s all over so fast that their prey can only scream for a second before they’re dead. But that’s the difference between me and the bird.”

“Red Robin, take down our comms,” you heard Jason whisper.

You could hear it switch off in your ear as you squeezed harder. Vertigo gasped for air, clawing at your wrist. Cold fury radiated off you in waves, your hood falling back as your power surrounded you. You could feel your hair float around your head, shards of glass around you lifting into the air.

“I named myself Shrike because the scientists who study them call them the butcher bird. I want every piece of shit like you to know what they’re dealing with. Because I’ve already crossed the line once before, and I’m not afraid to keep crossing it. And just like with Black Mask, I’m going to make an example of you.” Raising the knife, you slashed it across his face. If he had been able to breathe, he likely would have screamed. “Mark my words and pass them on to whoever was working with you. The next time you come after me or mine, you will die screaming.”

Tossing aside the knife, you released his throat. The man gasped for breath as you stood up, reigning your power back in. Shards of glass fell from your hair and shoulders as you pulled your hood back up. You took a step back, taking an explosive charge from Jason and placing it on the wall.

“I suggest you start running,” you told Vertigo. “Or you’ll go up in flames with this hellhole.”

Head held high, you strode out of the room and back down the corridor. Jason followed two steps behind you, silent at your back. Neither of you spoke as you left through the front door. The jet had already left, no trace of your companions or the children they had evacuated. Snow began to fall as you both retreated to a safe distance. Jason turned his comms back on.

“We’ve left the building. Blow it to hell, Penny-one.”

Throwing your arms up to shield your face, you took a few steps further back as the bombs detonated. Debris rained down, flames reaching up towards the sky. You watched it all burn, a vicious thrill going up your spine.

“Good work you two. Rendevous at the cave when able. Cutting comms,” Barbara said.

Once you heard the click in your ear, you turned to Jason and threw yourself at him. He caught you with a breathless laugh, his arms coming around you as you squeezed him tightly.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you said. “I heard you scream and I was so scared—”

“It’s okay, babe.” Jason pushed your hood back, fingers picking smaller shards of glass from your hood. “I’m okay.”

“You were amazing in there.” You caught his wrist, heart still pounding from the adrenaline rush.

“So were you. Maybe I was wrong.” His pulse raced against your fingers. “I could watch you take down scumbags all day long.”

“Does that mean date nights taking down bad guys in the future, then?” You stepped closer to him, his other hand coming up to rest on your hip.

“Only when we really need to spice it up in bed,” he said. “I’d rather treat my girlfriend right and not make her spend every date night in a dark alley that smells like piss.”

 _Girlfriend_. Your heart soared when you heard him use the word. For the past week your conversations with him and been limited and tense, no discussion of what your relationship was or what it would look like going forward.

“Red Hood,” you whispered, “are you trying to lock this down as an official thing?”

“Gotta make sure no one else gets ideas, Shrike.” He bent his head towards you, voice low. “Because that look you’ve got going on is hot as hell.”

You laughed, letting go of his wrist and taking a step back. “Noted and appreciated. Come on, _boyfriend_. We’ve got people waiting for us.”

Fingers linked with his, you ran laughing to Jason’s bike, the flames warming your back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just one more chapter, y'all. sorry for the kinda crappy exposition again, but i didn't just want to start off the chapter with the raid and no explanation of the time between. 
> 
> also, shrikes are the most metal bird ever. seriously. i love them, and it felt fitting for miss reader's turn towards the vicious
> 
> if you've read this far, thank you!! comments and kudos are always appreciated.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath
> 
> chapter warnings: brief mild sexuality
> 
> _"oh and you in all your vibrant youth  
>  how could anything bad ever happen to you?  
> you make a fool of death with your beauty  
> and for a moment i forget to worry"_

One of the perks of living on Gotham’s outer edge was stargazing. While the light pollution was still high, you could see far more stars than you had been able to when you were living in the middle of the city. Bundled in blankets, you sat on the roof and watched them twinkle and blink. Although it was near the end of February, winter had not yet left. After a full week of snowstorms, you had taken advantage of the first clear night in days and climbed on the roof. A thermos of hot chamomile tea sat next to you and you felt at peace for the first time in months.

After the successful destruction of the trafficking facility, you had cut back on your vigilante activity. The new term started, and you didn’t have enough time to kick criminal ass and grade papers at the same time. Some weekends you went out with Jason to help him but not as frequently as either of you would like. With your nights spent tutoring Damian and working on lesson plans and Jason’s nights spent prowling the streets, the moments you did have together were precious. In the early morning hours when he would crawl in through your window, bruised and high on adrenaline, you would let him hold you until you had to leave for work. One night, after several days of not seeing each other, Jason had been bold enough to pull you into one of the rooms in Wayne Manor to have sex. It had been quick and rough and one of the most thrilling things you’d done.

When you didn’t see him, when you had to go days without hearing his voice or seeing his face, you missed him like he was a piece of you. Days went by where you felt like you were missing a limb, texts going unanswered and calls sent straight to voicemail. At the beginning of February he had forgotten to tell you that he would be gone for five days to go overseas and would be off the grid. When he’d finally come back to visit you, you’d nearly killed him. You had spent each of those days worrying more and more and had become convinced that he’d finally gotten himself killed. The angry sex that night was great but he’d learned his lesson. If he had to go more than a day without being able to contact you, he would warn you.

But even with the bumps in the road, you were happy. For the first time in years it felt like a hole in your heart had been filled. With Jason around, you felt whole again. You smiled more, laughed easier. You knew that you were in love with him, and it terrified you. Both of you danced around the obvious fact that you were crazy about each other, never putting it into words but showing it with your actions. When he spent the night with you, you would wake up to find the cat already fed and a hot, fresh breakfast already prepared. When you opened your door to him on his bad nights, he would find you ready and waiting with hot tea and tender kisses.

Reaching for the thermos, you poured a small amount of tea in the cap and sipped at it. It was Friday night and you knew Jason would be coming soon. He had helped you find the little house you now lived in. Although it was farther from Gotham Academy and made the commute longer, you loved the peace that came with being farther from the beating heart of the city. The rent was the same as your apartment had been but you had an extra room to store all of your supplies. With your brain clear after weaning yourself off of your medication, you were painting more. The colors in your works were brighter, your love of landscapes morphing into portraiture and botanical paintings. You’d come up to the roof after finishing an oil painting of a bouquet of wild flowers you’d seen displayed in a window on your way to work, excited to show it to Jason when he arrived.

“You sure look cozy.”

Jolting in surprise, you cursed as tea spilled onto your lap. Turning around, you frowned up at Jason. He’d changed out of his costume (after you politely requested it to prevent anyone tracking Red Hood to you), hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket and a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I should make you wear a goddamn bell around your neck,” you said.

“Oh, kinky.” Crouching down, he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Gross,” you laughed. Shuffling a bit, you opened up the blankets for him. “Hello, by the way.”

“Hi.” Jason took the corner of the blanket, sitting down next to you. “How was work?”

“Same as usual.” You leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I don’t think any of the kids are excited to study the Impressionists.”

“Yeah, well, teenagers are tasteless.”

“I painted tonight, too.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” You closed your eyes, warmth spreading in your chest. Normal, easy conversation. “I’ll show you later. How was your night?”

“Pretty uneventful.” Jason sighed, leaning his head against yours. “Met up with Dick and busted a couple of Penguin’s guys. Spent most of it missing you.”

Humming, you draped your legs over his lap and pulled the blanket closer around both of you. His hand rested on your thigh, fingers tapping a rhythm against the soft fabric of your pajama pants. “I’m glad you were at least able to find something to do.”

“What, nothing to say about my sweet little platitude?” Feigning outrage, he pulled away a fraction to gasp and look horrified. “What an ungrateful girlfriend I have!”

“Okay, you little shit, I missed you too.” You scrunched your nose at him. The scar tissue there stretched uncomfortably with the movement. Damian had been right when he’d told you the wound would scar, but it hadn’t been as bad as you’d feared. “Better?”

“Mm, I don’t know. I think a little bit more effort might make me feel better.”

Rolling your eyes, you clambered on his lap, the blanket falling from around you. Straddling him, you peppered his face with kisses. Jason squirmed and laughed, arms wrapping around your waist. Pulling back, you cradled his face in your hands. “Is that better, you big baby?”

“I guess so.” He sighed, resting his head on your chest. You combed your fingers through his hair, shivering from the cold you were now exposed to. “We should probably get inside. You don’t want to catch a cold.”

“Yeah. The stars looked so pretty tonight.” You looked up, watching them for a moment longer.

“Not as pretty as you.” Jason grinned up at you and you gave him a playful shove. Sometimes he laid it on just a little bit to thick.

“Alright, Casanova, let’s get inside. Help me with the blankets?”

Jason helped you back down from the roof and you both went back inside the house. Ragdoll greeted you at the door but quickly ditched you once he saw Jason. The cat had decided that he liked your boyfriend more. You suspected Jason had bribed him into it by giving him extra food. Depositing the blankets on the couch, you moved into the kitchen to put a new kettle on the stove. You were a bit chilled from your time outside and hot tea always soothed you.

One arm looping around your middle, Jason turned off the burner and grasped your wrist when you grunted in annoyance and reached for it again. He pulled you in tighter against him, sliding his fingers up to link with your own. “If you drink any more tea, I think you’re going to start replacing your blood with it,” he said.

Busted. He must have noticed the half empty box on the counter. He’d bought it for you just a couple of days previously. Sighing, you pulled your hand from his and turned to face him. His arm remained around you, the other cupping your cheek.

“Well then, what would you like to drink instead of tea?” you asked.

“I don’t really want anything to drink.” Bending down, he rested his forehead against yours. “I just want to spend time with you.”

That was, of course, a euphemism for wanting to fuck. If there was one thing you had learned about Jason, it was that he enjoyed the pursuit. When he wasn’t frustrated to the point of madness (i.e. the Manor Fucking), he drew out the tension until one of you snapped. Usually, you were the first to give in. But you decided to play along. Despite his earlier teasing, you felt like spoiling him a little.

“Well, would you like to see what I painted tonight, then?” you asked.

“Sure.”

Stepping back, he let you pass by. While you made your way to the art room, he pulled off his leather jacket and tossed it on the loveseat you’d set up in one corner of the room. You watched as he approached the painting, looking thoughtful. Rubbing at his jaw and making appreciative noises, he turned back to you after a few moments.

“The color theory is quite good,” he said. Jason knew very little about art and tended to just spout bullshit in an attempt to sound like he did know about art. “The brushstrokes are very consistent.”

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing. “Wow, very high praise. I’m faint with joy.”

“I’m trying,” he said. He feigned insult again, hand on his chest. “You’re being so cruel tonight. I come to your house, I shower you with compliments, and this is what I get in return?”

“Oh hush, you like it.” You wrapped your arms around him, grinning.

“I do,” he admitted. “And in all seriousness, the piece is wonderful. Everything you make is wonderful. I wish you’d take that offer Bruce set up with the gallery.”

Two weeks previously, Bruce Wayne had taken it upon himself to show some of the pieces you’d given him as gifts to an acquaintance of his. This acquaintance just so happened to own one of the most well known and highly regarded art galleries in Gotham. He had been impressed and asked Bruce to make an offer with you to display the pieces at the gallery. Bruce had feigned innocence, but you weren’t stupid. You knew that he’d done it to try to kickstart a career in serious art circles for you. With your contract for the next year coming up for re-negotiation, you’d been wavering on whether to sign on for another year or try something different. Apparently, someone (it was Dick, because it was always Dick) had told Bruce that. While it was an amazing opportunity, you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to take it or not. Even if the pieces caught the eye of potential clients, there was no guarantee that interest would eventually wane in your art and you’d be left with no job and no source of income.

“I don’t know. It just feels too good to be real.” You rested your head on his chest, frowning. “I don’t know if I’m ready to take that leap.”

“Just let him set something up with you. If it goes well, then you’ll know that it’s time to take that step. If not, then you can sign a contract for another year at the academy.” Jason rubbed circles into the back of your neck with his thumb. His first little step in the pursuit.

Making a pleased sound at the back of your throat, you pressed yourself closer to him. He still smelled of gunpowder and sweat, a combination that you’d found surprisingly pleasant. His other hand drifted to rest on your hip. You closed your eyes, melting into his touch.

“I’ll think about it. I guess it would be nice to be able to go to one of those fancy galleries. Wear something nice, drink a little bit too much champagne.” You rose up onto the balls of your feet, draping your arms around his shoulders and smiling. “I’ve never had expensive champagne before. Do you think they have caviar, too?”

“Probably,” he said. Both his hands rested on your hips now, a gentle sway moving both of you. “See, there’s a selling point. You get to go to fancy parties and get tipsy on fancy alcohol. And you can have me on your arm.”

“I guess I’d bring you along as my date,” you sighed. “It would be fun watching you make old money uncomfortable.”

“They have fancy toilets there, too,” he whispered in your ear.

Gasping, you feigned shock. “Mr. Todd, are you implying what I think you are?”

“Maybe, maybe not. A little adventure is always good, isn’t it?”

You were surprised. He’d skipped a few of his usual steps and gone right for suggestive conversation. Maybe he had more pent up frustration than you’d assumed.

“I guess I’ll have to agree then,” you said. You continued to sway together, stretching up a bit more to dust a kiss to his jaw. “You’re quiet the salesman.”

“My dick’s always been good at closing deals.” Grinning down at you, he bent and wrapped his arms tight around your waist, all the warning you had before he picked you up. Squealing, you wrapped your legs around his waist. His grip moved to your thighs, holding you up with ease. “So I think it’s only fair that we seal this deal before you change your mind.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re incorrigible, Jason Todd.”

“You love it.” Grinning he carried you out of the art room and back into the living room. “You certainly haven’t filed any complaints.”

“Oh my god, just shut up and kiss me,” you said.

Jason flashed you that devilish grin before lowering you onto the couch. Your legs stayed around his waist as he hovered over you. When he finally kissed you, you melted into it. No matter how many times he kissed you, you never got tired of it. His fingers slipped under your shirt, skimming over your ribs. With a soft groan he moved to kiss down to your throat. You titled your head back for him, moaning as he sucked a mark onto your collarbone. The weekends gave him time to leave marks all over your body. Scarves had become a new staple of your wardrobe, as you never escaped an encounter with Jason without at least one hickey.

Pushing himself up onto his hands, he stared down at you for a moment. There was a hesitancy in his eyes that made your anxiety spike. Had you done something wrong? Was he only getting frisky with you out of obligation? As you spiraled into catastrophizing, he brushed a thumb over the new scar on your face.

“I… you know that you mean a lot to me, right?” he asked.

“Of course,” you said. You were confused. Where was all of this coming from? Oh god, was he breaking up with you?

“It’s just hard for me to put things into words sometimes, you know?” His fingers slid down to tug the collar of your shirt down your right arm. The scar on your shoulder was puckered and ugly, and you sighed when he bent down to kiss it.

“I know, Jason. I care about you a lot, too.”

“I know, I just… God, this is stupid.” He groaned, collapsing on top of you. You wheezed, shifting his weight so he wasn’t crushing you. “This shouldn’t be so hard.”

“Jason, are you breaking up with me?” you asked.

“What?” He sat up at the question, panicked. “No, no! God, no. I’m not at all.”

“Then what are you trying to say?”

His shoulders sagged. Sitting back up, he ran a hand over his face. You sat up as well, resting a hand on his thigh.

“It’s just that you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. After I came back, I was in a dark place. Bruce and the others helped me out of it, but there was only so much they could do, you know? It was like… like I was permanently cold inside.” Jason took a deep breath and cupped your face, looking you in the eye. “You make me feel warm again.”

“Oh.” Heat rushed to your cheeks. You knew Jason cared for you. It was hard not to. But every time he put it in words, it was like the first time all over again. “Jason, I—”

“I love you.” The words spilled out of him in a rush. His face was flushed in embarrassment, but he refused to look away from you. “I love you. I’ve been meaning to tell you for so long, but I chickened out each time. I want you to know. And you don’t have to say it back. I just… I needed to say it.”

You were at a loss for words. Heart in your throat, your shaking fingers came up to curl around his wrists. Swallowing back tears, you leaned into his touch. “Say it again.” Your voice was soft, uncertain.

“I love you.” He repeated himself, voice stronger this time. “So much that it hurts.”

“I love you, too.” The tears came suddenly, making you hiccup. “I love you so much, Jason.”

“Oh god, don’t cry!” Jason chuckled, wiping at your face as you sniffled.

“I’m just so happy.” You laughed, pressing a kiss into his palm. “I’m so happy, Jason. _You_ make me happy.”

An adoring smile lit up his face. It softened his features, gave him little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that you loved to kiss. It was a smile that lit up the room and stoked the flames in your heart. You loved him more than you could say. To know that you were loved back was all you could ever ask for. Throwing your arms around his neck, you kissed him. Jason fell back with you on the couch, both of you giggling in between kisses. Amusement melted into desire, and as you rode him on the couch, you found that “I love you” tasted even sweeter when you said it on the brink of climaxing. He pressed it into your skin with fevered kisses, scraping his nails over your skin. The words tumbled from his lips when he came inside you, desperate and raw. You echoed the words over and over, feverish and slow and sweet until you were both spent.

When you woke up in the morning, your head tucked into his chest and legs tangled together, you found that the first sweet, sleepy “I love you” he kissed into your neck was the best one of them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all folks! just a quick little happy ending for this fic. i hope you've enjoyed it, and thank you all for coming along for the ride! i do have plans to do some one shots or a little sequel with these two, so keep an eye out. i have some other batboy oneshots i want to work on as well.
> 
> thank you all for reading! all the sweet comments i've gotten on this fic have really helped motivate me to keep going. i read and reply to all of them, and each one makes my day. 
> 
> see you all next time!


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